


Family

by DangerFloof



Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [3]
Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Complete, Consensual Underage Sex, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Illegal Activities, Mild Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Summer Romance, Teen Angst, Teen Crush, Teenage Drama, Teenage Rebellion, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 34,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerFloof/pseuds/DangerFloof
Summary: Louise joins Mr. Fischoeder’s extended network of weird, wacky, but somehow effective mobsters that run the town.  Between getting her driver’s license, planning her career, and dealing with everyone around her totally pubing out, Louise is in for one adventurous summer.





	1. ONE

             “Hey Louise, wanna see _Black Panther_ this Sunday?”

             She’s Skyping with Jessica, formerly known to Louise as Flour Spice, whilst trying to arrange her long hair in a bun that will actually stay up throughout her entire shift. “Crap! I’m working all day Sunday.”

            “All day? Wasn’t slavery abolished in 1865?”

            “Not in the Belcher family.” Louise shakes her head, and a black curl, frizzy from the heat and humidity, springs out and blocks her left eye. “Damn it!”

            Jessica laughs. “God, your hair’s a wreck.”

            “Better wrecked than red.”

            “If you don’t like red hair then why are you friends with Rudy and me?”

            “Pitty, duh.”

            Jessica rolls her eyes. “Anyhoo, Rudy’s due back from his grandparent’s this Sunday morning, and _Black Panther_ is leaving that night. Do you mind if the two of us go without you?”

            Louise is disappointed; with her work schedule, Rudy and Jessica’s family vacations, then those two nerds prepping for their PSATs, she hasn’t seen nearly enough of them this summer, and it’s already July. Besides, she likes _Black Panther_ enough to not only watch it twice, but to actually pay to do so. “I guess you guys will have to. I traded with Gene so he could go on a date, so there’s no backsies there.”

            “Fine,” Jessica says, sticking out her tongue. “But I’m not buying any SweeTarts for you.”

            Louise returns the gesture. “Have fun on your da-a-a-te, loser!”

            She cuts off the connection with Jessica in the middle of flipping her off, and she realizes that she’s running late. Her father often marvels how someone who lives literally just above her workplace can be consistently tardy, and reminds her that if he weren’t her father as well as her boss she’d have been fired for it a long time ago. Louise gives up on her hair and just sticks in some random bobby pins for luck, then runs down to the restaurant, taking the stairs two at a time.

            Bob glances up from the prep table, where he’s flipping and refilling fresh pans in anticipation of Friday night’s dinner rush. “Three o’clock on the dot. Not bad.”

            Louise ties her half-apron around her waist and washes her hands. “Exactly on time is perfect, like me.”

            Bob shakes his head, but he’s smiling. He fills a clean pan with fresh tomatoes, then puts the few remaining slices of yesterday’s on top, so they’ll be used first. Louise has changed so much in the past few months it would worry him if most of the changes weren’t positive. She seems more focused, more serious, more grown up since visiting Tina in Chicago over spring break. He watches her as she takes an order from a mother with two small children. Earlier this year, Louise would have rolled her eyes and glared at the “snot monsters,” as she calls any kid under ten, but today Louise maintains a tolerably pleasant, if not especially friendly expression on her face. That’s…something, he decides.

            He hears Linda huffing has she climbs up the basement steps. He hurries to the door and takes the heavy pan of fresh-ground beef from her. “You should have called me, Lin.”

            Linda begins scrubbing her greasy hands at the sink. “No Bobby, you have enough to do up here.”

            Louise pokes her head through the window and sticks the order ticket on the spinning carousel. “Three cheeseburgers. Hi Mom, glad you could join us.”

            “Fri-day night, working with my fam-i-ly!” Linda sings.

            “Wow, the front window really needs cleaning,” Louise beats a retreat.

            Bob and Linda exchange a look. Louise typically does anything except work to escape her mother’s songs.

            Linda is standing at the scale, where she’ll weigh out each burger, shape it, and put it in a pan for future use. “Huh, she’s almost responsible now. Our baby’s growing up, Bobby.”

            He grunts. Finished with the vegetables, Bob moves on to flipping the condiment pans. Growing up indeed: he’s still debating if it’s worth fighting her on the Kuchi Kopi t-shirt she’s currently wearing, which any reasonable person would agree she’d outgrown a year ago. He’s only just won the ban on yoga pants at work, mostly because he showed her a graphic video of the stretchy fabric actually melting onto someone’s skin in a hot grease accident.

            The door chime trills, and Mr. Fischoeder, as always decked out in an impeccable white suit, eye patch in place, strolls in. “Ah, yes, the Belcher establishment,” he drawls, as if mildly surprised to actually find himself there.

            Louise automatically pours him a glass of water just the way he likes it; cold, with exactly three ice cubes, and slides it over to him.

            “Thank you…Lola? Lolita?”

            “Louise,” Bob supplies, hurrying out of the kitchen, as always concerned about the sort of mess Louise might create if left alone with the man upon whose good graces the family depend.

            “Louise,” Mr. Fischoeder murmurs absently, but he smiles at her.   Mr. Fischoeder seems to like the girl, even if he can’t remember her name, a fact that does not reassure Bob in the slightest. This is, after all, the man who once asked him if he raised children or chinchillas. “So Bob, I’m just here to remind you of our little monthly agreement.”

            “The check is upstairs,” Bob says proudly. June was a good month; he can pay the rent on time and in full for once.

            “I’ll get it!” Louise yells, leaping up and sliding over the counter _Dukes of Hazzard_ style.

            “No, let me—“

            “Ah, let the girl get it. I’ll be at the Pesto place,” he calls to Louise.

            “You, uh, don’t want to wait here? She’ll only be a minute,” Bob says.

            Mr. Fischoeder is slowly backing away, “Oh no-no-no, my good man. It smells like fried meat in here.”

            “Well, Mr. Fischoeder, we do sell burgers—“

            “Time is money, Bob.”

            “And money is time!” Louise shouts as she runs out the door.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            She can’t believe her good luck! Ever since she talked to Tina about money for school, Tina’s trunk of weed, and the need to find _a friend_ for whom she could do odd jobs, Louise has been trying to find a way to have a private conversation with Mr. Fischoeder, and now the perfect opportunity drops into her lap. She doesn’t know for a fact that Mr. Fischoeder runs the local drug cartel, but he’s the richest, most powerful man in town, and if he doesn’t do it, then he knows who does.

            “Mr. Fi-Fischoeder!” she calls out, gasping for breath. He’s standing outside Jimmy Pesto’s building, reaching out to open the door.

            “Ah, Lenore, here you are, and right on time. So good to know that one of the Belcher clan understands time.” He chuckles as if he just told a joke, and she forces herself to politely laugh along. She hands him the check, which he tucks into his suit jacket pocket.

            “I was thinking, Mr. Fischoeder—“

            “I’m glad to hear it. Thinking is a rare trait in the young, but you are a rare girl.”

            Louise pastes a smile on her face. “Well, you see, Mr. Fischoeder, you’re a busy man, and I have free time on my hands. Maybe I could do some little jobs for you? Just between you and me, of course.”

            His green eye gleams as he takes her in. “Curious. Little jobs?”

            She nods. “Deliveries, maybe. I work in a restaurant, so I know a lot about…herbs. Maybe I could do some sales for you? I’ll be able to drum up extra business during the school year.”

            Louise finally started her big growth spurt last January; already she’s taller than Tina, as tall as her mother and Gene, and, if the doctor is correct, she’ll end up almost as tall as her father. But Mr. Fischoeder still has almost half a foot over her, and he looks down with a cunning, appraising look in his eye. “You were a blueberry girl, weren’t you?”

            Her laugh is genuine this time; neither she nor her siblings knew then what was hiding in the cartons of fruit the customers awaited so eagerly. “Yeah.” She considers. “You, uh, had nothing to do with them being arrested, did you?”

            Mr. Fischoeder chuckles, but his expression is not friendly. “Not at all my dear girl, not at all. But I don’t like paying for leaves and getting stems and seeds. If you agree to sell me leaves, I better get leaves, do you understand?”

            “Yeah, I do.”

            “Well, Baby Belcher, we might try a few little tasks for you, privately, to see how it goes. Just remember,” he adds, his voice as calm as always, but with an aura of vague menace about him that makes her choke back her protest against the nickname. “I don’t like stems and seeds.”

            “Yes, Mr. Fischoeder.”

            “Good, good. You will be contacted with your first assignment shortly.” He’s all smiles and affability now, as Jimmy Pesto swings open the door and invites their landlord inside.


	2. TWO

            “What do you think, Zeke?”

            Zeke dips a tasting spoon into the bowl of garlic aioli that Bob just whipped up for tomorrow’s “Rodney Dangerfield-Greens Burger” and licks it. Frowning thoughtfully, he smacks his lips. “Needs more pepper, Mr. B.”

            Bob nods and grinds more pepper into the bowl. Zeke is studying at the nearest culinary school, which is almost two hours north, but came back to town for the summer to work for Bob as his internship. They really need the help, with business picking up and Tina away, and Bob considers himself lucky to get Zeke and his perfect palette. Zeke, for his part, has often (and loudly) credited Bob with inspiring him to become a chef in the first place, and never fails to bring his can-do enthusiasm to work with him every day. It’s an arrangement that works out well for everyone.

            It’s a little past 6:30 in the evening when Jessica and Rudy tumble in, demanding soft-serve ice cream and conversation.

            “What did you think of the movie?” Louise asks as she fills the bowls extra-high for her best friends.

            The two redheads simultaneously cross their arms over their chests. “Wakanda forever!”

            Louise returns the gesture and slides the bowls over to them. They’re sitting in their usual spots at the counter, which also happen to be Teddy’s and Mort’s favorite stools too. From that position, Louise can talk to them from virtually anywhere in the front of the house. She grabs a bottle of sanitizer and a cleaning rag and begins to wipe down the booths.

             “You guys don’t want anything else?”

             Jessica shakes her head, her strawberry blonde hair swinging about her shoulders. “Nah, we filled up on popcorn.”

             Louise looks up at Rudy. “You ate the popcorn?” Then, to Jessica: “You let him eat the _popcorn_?”

             Keeping Reg-Size alive and out of the hospital is practically a full-time job, one that Louise has performed since the fourth grade, and she knows from terrible experience what theatre popcorn does to Rudy’s insides. Jessica hasn’t been part of the staff as long as Louise has, but she’s not new either; what the hell was she thinking?

             “She didn’t _let_ m—“

             “Shut up, Rudy,” Louise says, waving her hand. “Jessica, you gotta get him out of here soon, because I am not— _not_ —going to clean the bathroom after one of his popcorn shits, especially one with an ice cream chaser.”

             Zeke laughs, Bob groans her name in warning, and Rudy looks like he wants to slide under the counter and disappear. Jessica rolls her eyes. “He took care of that before he got here. That’s why we’re so late.”

             Rudy’s face is redder than his hair, so Louise decides she must be telling the truth. “Fine, you can stay, I guess.”

             “So, Louise,” Bob calls out, attempting to change the subject, “I just got a text from your mother. She’s making tomorrow’s grocery list, and wants to know if you want apples or oranges.”

             “I’d just make the decision at the store, if I had my license and could do the shopping myself,” Louise grumbles, her voice muffled. She’s bent over in an awkward position, trying to dig out a fork that’s wedged between the back and seat of one of the booths.

             “Don’t start that again, Louise.”

             “Well Dad, it _would_ help teach me responsibility.”

              Bob sighs. Louise turned sixteen last month, and is convinced that since Rudy and Jessica already have their licenses, that means everyone else in their grade already has too, so she’s determined to have her’s by the time she starts her junior year. Bob is mostly supportive of her goal; Louise is already the best parallel parker in the family, and Gene, who hates driving, finally got his license last year but still bikes around town everywhere. The family can afford to put her on their insurance—barely—but finding the time to take her out to practice in the busy summer season is proving difficult.

             “Heck, I can take ‘er out for a spin, Mr. B,” Zeke says.

             “Zeke, that’s…great…but I couldn’t ask you to—“

             “It ain’t no problem, Mr. B. My truck, your car, whatever floats yer boat.”

             Louise shakes her head. She likes Zeke well enough as a coworker, because he’s competent, never gets flustered no matter how deep in the weeds they are, and, with him around, she doesn’t always have to be the muscles in the place. Louise enjoys showing off, but it was getting tiring to know that if she didn’t lift or open it, it probably wouldn’t be done, given her father’s bad back and Gene’s, well, _Geneness_. She’s envious of the snake tattoo that winds around his arm, undulating as his muscles move. In fact, Louise would almost consider him a friend, if it weren’t for Tina’s comment about his Portobello mushroom penis. Of course Tina had been joking about that—probably—but Louise just can’t work her way around the image.

            “Aw, don’t be difficult, Baby Belcher,” Zeke says, raising his thick eyebrows.

_Baby Belcher?_

            Louise holds up her cleaning cloth. “Call me that again, and I’ll shove it so far up your butt you’ll fart cotton for a month.”

            He chuckles, but Louise gets the distinct impression that he’s trying hard to communicate _something_ to her. “Don’t be _seedy_ with me, Baby B.”

           Oh? _Oh!_ “Fine. Whatever, loser.”

           Bob makes a disgruntled sound, but it’s Rudy who says, “Hey Louise, he’s being pretty generous here.”

           Louise shrugs. “ _I’m_ the one being generous, letting him be seen in public with me.”

           Bob shakes his head as his daughter, her friends, and his employee dissolve into an endless round of play-bickering.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            For once, it’s Louise, not Tina, who’s running late to their Skype call. Still slightly damp from her shower, she flops down on the bed, plugs in her phone, and opens up the app.

            “Congrats, T!”

            Tina is positively grinning. “Isn’t it great? Did you get the pics I sent you?”

            Louise nods. Tina sent her selfies earlier that day in her new Hooters uniform. “Received, admired, and deleted.”

            Tina’s face falls a little. “Deleted?”

            “Mom.”

            “Oh. Yeah.”

            “You looked great, T.” And Tina did, though the mandatory “suntan” hose made her legs a touch orange, and the bright shorts pulled across her hips. But Tina smiles so proudly that Louise can’t bring herself to point out a single flaw.

            “I don’t know if you could tell in the picture, but the shorts are kind of tight, and that’s the largest size they carry. Do you know any good lower body exercises?”

            Louise scoffs. Does _she_ know any good lower body exercises? “Tina, I’m going to send you some videos. Do them regularly for a month, and everyone will ask what your secret is.”

           “Good,” Tina breathes with relief. She leans forward a bit. “I’m going to wear my makeup like this tomorrow. What do you think? Nick says it’s fine.”

           Louise rolls her eyes. Tina’s roommate quit Target last month and is now working at Sephora. “If he says it’s fine, then it’s fine.”

           “But I want to know what _you_ think.”

           Flattered, Louise looks at her sister carefully as she slowly turns her head. “I admit, you look kinda weird to me, without the cat-eye and red lipstick, but I like it.”

           Louise knows enough about makeup to realize that the no-makeup makeup look requires at least as many cosmetics as her sister’s former, perfectly applied mask. Without the Instagram brows, obvious highlighter, and signature eyes and lips, Tina looks younger, happier even. She hasn’t seen Tina look like this since…well, probably since she started doing topless review. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Louise is again reminded of the toll semi-stripping took on her sister.

           “You look beautiful,” Louise says, and means it. “I especially like that nude lipstick on you.”

          “Thanks,” Tina says, giving her sister a significant look. “For some reason I just can’t seem to find the lip gloss I loaned you over spring break.”

           “Huh, that’s weird.”

           “You can give me a replacement for Christmas. Now, what’s this about Zeke giving you driving lessons?”

           “Oh my God, T, we just agreed to it barely two hours ago.”

           Tina strikes a mysterious air. “I have a spy on the inside.”

           “Uh-huh.”

           “It’s Mom.”

           “Mm-hum.”

           “She texted me about it.”

           “Yeah, I’ve got it, Tina.”

           Tina shakes her head. “I still can’t believe you asked me what his dick looks like.”

          “I still can’t eat portobello mushrooms.”

          “Don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer.”

          “I wasn’t even fourteen yet!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t take credit for the Portobello mushroom thing. It’s a throwaway line from "The Venture Brothers" about Brock Sampson, and it never fails to crack me up.


	3. THREE

                 Zeke pulls up to the Belcher’s place at exactly 8:00 the next morning. He’s careful to park his pickup with plenty of room at either end— _No use makin’ the kid struggle too hard on her first try_ —and knocks on the door. He hears the thump of feet running down the stairs, then the door unlocks.

                 “Come on up to the kitchen. Dad’s making omelets,” Louise says.

                 “Oh, I don’t need nuthin’.”

                 “Well, I’m finishing breakfast, so at least have a cup of coffee.”

                 He’s been to the Belcher’s apartment a few times before. Little has changed over the years, except the furniture seems to be a bit shabbier than he remembers. Still, it’s far larger and cleaner than his home growing up, and he likes the family photos on the walls. His own family, disjointed, quarrelsome, and scattered, isn’t much on picture taking.

                Bob slides an omelet onto a plate just as they enter the kitchen. “Here you go, Zeke.”

               “Uh, thanks, Mr. B.” The omelet smells really good—he thinks there’s chorizo in it—and with it pushed in front of him like that, he really can’t say no.

               “My baby, doing the shopping, driving a car, oh what a star!” Linda sings as she counts out the cash and clips it and some coupons to the list.

               Louise and Bob pinch the bridges of their noses and sigh. Zeke catches Gene’s eye, and the two snort into their coffee.

               One breakfast and several reminders to not wreck Zeke’s truck later, the two make it out of the kitchen. Louise bounces down the stairs ahead of him, which makes him uncomfortable—his grandma would have a fit if she knew he didn’t go first, to potentially brace a lady’s fall—but he’s treated to a great view of Louise’s ass, which is just barely covered by her cutoffs. He’s enough of a gentleman to not comment on it, but that doesn’t stop him from appreciating the free look.

               Once outside, he opens the driver’s door for her and holds out his hand. “Git on in.”

               Louise frowns, obviously equal parts confused and offended, and hops in unassisted.

               He shakes his head. Why ladies like to get all worked up over basic courtesy is beyond him. Zeke closes the door after her, and climbs up to the passenger side. “You know the way.”

               Louise takes a minute to familiarize herself with the controls and adjust the mirrors and seat. He and Louise are the same height, but most of her height is in her legs, so her line of sight is lower than his. Broad and bulky, barrel chested, with muscular but short arms and legs, Zeke has always given the impression of being a much taller guy than he really is, particularly when seated. Eventually, with very little effort and only mild cursing, Louise pulls out of the spot and into traffic.

               “It’s bigger than I thought it would be.”

               Zeke grins, his hazel eyes twinkling. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

               Louise stares intensely at the road, her face rapidly turning almost purple with embarrassment. “Sick!”

              He laughs softly, and promises himself he’ll embarrass her more often. She’s cute when she’s mortified. After the first right, he says, “Go on left to Critter an’ Mudflap’s.”

              “Why?”

              “’Cause, Baby B, we’re gonna have some engine troubles that’ll keep us out fer a bit. Meanwhile, yer gonna teach Sidecar his multiplication tables, just like Mr. Fischoeder wants.”

              “What?”

              “I said, yer gonna—“

              “I don’t mean what-what, I mean why-what?”

              “I dunno.” He crosses his arms behind his head. “But Mr. Fischoeder gits what Mr. Fischoeder wants.”

              Mudflap opens the front door. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and weed with undernotes of beer rolls out and smacks Louise in the face. She hopes it doesn’t cling too badly to her hair; Linda has the nose of a bloodhound.

              “Glad yer here!” Mudflap envelops her in a hug, which Louise, though not typically a hugger, returns with enthusiasm. She’s always had rough affection for the tough biker.

             “I gotta fly, Baby B.” She pats the pockets of her vests. “Can’t be late for deliveries like this.”

              Seven year-old Sidecar glances up from the floor where he’s sitting cross-legged, playing some first-person shooter that Louise can’t identify, but is clearly bloodier than most parents would allow a child his age to play. Louise’s respect for Mudflap ticks up a notch. “’Bye, Ma.”

             “Now you listen to what Miz Louise has gotta say. I wanna hear you repeat all the way up to the threes when I git back!”

              “Damn it, Ma, I’m on level eight!”

              Mother and son argue with increasing volume, giving Louise cover to pump Zeke for more information.

             “Where’s Critter?”

             “He’s workin’, and them eight-balls ain’t gonna deliver themselves. She’ll be gone an hour, hour-n’-a-half, max.”

             “Why is he doing homework during the summer?”

             “’Cause my boy’s got special summer schooling,” Mudflap declares proudly, having ended the argument with a light slap upside the back of her son’s mullet. “But if he don’t do good, they’re gonna hold him back a year.”

              “Well,” Louise says, eyeing the mutinous-looking little boy, “We’ll make it up to the threes.”

              “I know you can do it; Mr. Fischoeder says yer a math wiz.”

              “Let’s go,” says Zeke.

              Louise turns to him. “Where are you going?”

             He grins at her, holding up the cash and list. “I got groceries to git, girl.”

            “Without me?”

            “Time is money, Baby B.”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            Sidecar glances up from his game. “You ain’t really gunna make me do math?”

            Louise thinks fast. Flashcards are out; surely his teachers already tried that, and it didn’t work. She doesn’t answer immediately, but walks around the house, desperate for inspiration. There are skulls and candles everywhere, which is cool, but not helpful.   They also tried to use objects as visual aids, right? Despairing, she peeks into the garage and grins. She knows exactly what to do.

            She hits the door button, to get some air circulating in the stifling garage. Behind her, Sidecar bellows a string of profanity as his character dies a bloody death. Perfect.

           “Hey, come here!”

           “No!”

           “Well, alright, if you just want to sit there and pretend to kill things, instead of learning how to inflict _real_ damage…”

           Of course he takes the bait. Sidecar peeks out into the garage, where he sees Louise shuffling, pivoting before the swinging heavy bag his father hung up last week. Her fists are up, jabbing as she attacks and retreats. “Wanna learn how to box?”

           He grins. “Daddy’s always too drunk to teach me.”

           Louise spots him running over to her and stills the bag before it can knock him on his butt. “Of course he is,” she smiles, “but I’m not.”

          She positions him carefully. “Now, keep your fists up, chin tucked, and move your feet.”

          He screams as he beats on the bag, landing wide, sloppy haymakers.

          Louise shakes her head. “No, you want to _defeat_ the bag, not kill it. Use your imagination and think of it as an enemy. Like this.”

          She shuffles around it, making quick jabs. “Gonna make me do dishes? Take this! And that!”

          She stops, panting slightly in the heavy air. “What do you want to defeat?”

          “Math!”

           Louise nods. “Okay, how about this?”

          She sets the bag swinging, and goes in attack mode, landing a quick jab on each word. “Three times one is three!”   She backs away. “Now, you try.”

          Louise has to admit that the kid may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he’s good at monkey-see, monkey-do. Setting himself up just like she did, he swings the bag, and lands a punch at every word. “Three times one is three!”

          “Great! Now, three times two is six!”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

          Mudflap roars her motorcycle into the driveway a little over an hour later to find her son and his tutor sitting on the good, company lawn furniture in the shade, sweaty and drinking Kool-Aid. Zeke pulls in less than a minute later. He hops down from the tall cab and swaggers over, grinning, hoping he looks more friendly than predatory. The way Louise is casually draped on the lounge, hair splayed out behind her, her long brown legs covered with a sheen of sweat, forces him to remind himself that she’s jailbait. _Definitely goin’ in the ol’ spank bank, though_. Aloud, he says, “Whatchoo doin’, girl?”

          She grins, her full lips stained red with Kool-Aid. “Oh, just resting up from teaching Sidecar his multiplication tables.”

          Mudflap gives her son a poke. “Well, show me what ya got, boy.”

          He glances over at Louise, and stands up like they practiced. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides, and jerk slightly as he begins to rattle off the sums. “One times zero is zero! One times one is one!”

          Eventually, the boy shoots straight through to the middle of the fours, petering out at four times five. “Aw hell, Ma, I got up to four times eight before.”

          His mother, however, is not only satisfied, but almost Linda Belcher level delighted. “Girl, you git over here, you miracle worker you!”

         Mudflap embraces her in a crushing hug, and presses a plastic snack bag into her hand. “That’s fer you, fer your trouble.”

         Louise looks at it. It’s half of a smoked joint. _Well, it’s better than a pinecone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zeke is partly inspired by Rhett Butler and Will Benteen from Margaret Mitchell’s "Gone With the Wind". I love the idea of Zeke constantly battling between his earthier instincts and his gentlemanly impulses, all expressed in his own redneck style.


	4. FOUR

          They’re idling at a light a few blocks from the Belcher’s, Louise’s hands carefully placed at the ten and two, when Zeke gives into his curiosity.

          “How’d ya think of teachin' him like that?”

          Louise shrugs. “Oh, you know, I’m just a natural with kids.”

          Zeke has known her too long to even pretend to buy what she’s selling. “Like hell!”

          Louise’s dark eyes twinkle at him. She likes the way he challenges her; fighting, play or otherwise, is her meat and potatoes. “We’re both physical people. I don’t learn well at a desk either.”

          “That’s real clever,” he says. “Wish you’d been my tutor.”

          The light turns, and Louise fumbles the stick, grinding the gears. “Careful there, Baby B.”

          “Ugh, stop calling me that.”

          She doesn’t like her nickname? Good. “Aw, Baby B darlin’, don’t be like that.”

           “Zeke, I swear to God—“

           He shrugs innocently. “We’re out doin’ business for Mr. Fischoeder, and he decided that you’re Baby Belcher. Nuttin’ I can do about it.”

           “Yeah, about that...I think I should be called something cooler, like, oh, I don’t know, literally anything else.”

           “Louise,” Zeke’s voice is serious. “Pull over into that parkin’ lot. We gotta talk.”

            She grumbles, but pulls neatly into one of the parking spots and cuts the engine. “Okay. Talk.”

            He licks his lips. Half-turned in his seat so he’s looking at her head-on, he motions for her to do the same. She’s glowering at him, arms crossed. Zeke tears his attention from her pouting lips and runs a hand through his hair.

            “This ain’t no game, girl. Mr. Fischoeder runs this town, and if you’re gonna work for him, you gotta understand that.”

            “I get it, jeez!”

             “No, you don’t.” Zeke’s thick brows come together. “Personally, I think he’s had his eye on both of us since the underground casino thing. He’s right good at spottin’ talent like that. And ya sure made an impression on him, just comin’ up to him bold as brass instead of siding up to one of the Associates like me.”

             Louise frowns. “Associates?”

             “Full, but low-level members. We do most of the grunt work. I report to my Captain, who reports to the Consigliere, who reports to Mr. Fischoeder himself. He ain’t too dedicated to the old Italian structure, but Mr. Fischoeder likes to play the Godfather. I think you’ll do good, as long as you understand the rules.”

             She pushes a curl behind her ear. “I make my own rules.”

            “Not with Mr. Fischoeder you don’t, not ever. Don’t fail him, don’t disappoint him, and don’t forget, he can make or break ya. And the rest of the Belchers.”

            “My—my family?”

            Zeke rubs his sweaty face. “Turn on the air, will you?”

            She turns the engine and cranks up the air conditioning. “What do you mean about my family?”

            Zeke sighs. God, he wishes he were good with words, like Tina. She could make Louise understand. “Okay. Look. He’s a great man to work for. I mean, look at me.” Zeke’s chest swells. “I’ve been a full Associate for four years. Didja know I’m the first person in my family to git more education after high school? I’m gonna finish culinary school without takin’ out loans! I got an apartment, a truck, and I can even afford to work for yer dad. No offense.”

            “None taken.”

            “He’s taken good care of me and mine, but only because I’ve taken care of his business. I’ll prob’ly be taken’ care of his business, at least a lil’ of it, ‘till one of us dies. I’m okay with that. If yer okay with that too, I’ll tell ‘im. If not, I’ll tell ‘im, and he’ll leave ya alone, no harm, no foul. But if ya continue, ya gotta see it through.”

            He pauses. Then, quietly. “Yer lookin’ to join the mob, Louise. This ain’t no prank, it’s the big-kid club. Mr. Fischoeder is the head of the family. Remember that, and you’ll do fine. Forget it, and life will be right hard for you and yer’s. He calls you Baby Belcher, so yer Baby Belcher, and that’s that. Got it?”

            Louise swallows hard. She already suspected much of this, but hearing it spelled out so baldly, so seriously, especially by Zeke, is like being slapped in the face with a brick. She thinks of Tina, spending that terrible year wearing little more than pasties and a smile to earn her tuition. She thinks of her parent’s whispers about money, about how they’re going to pay for Gene’s education. Louise knows she’s taking a huge risk, but she’s a gambler at heart.

            “I got it. I want to be an Associate. Let Fi—I mean, I’m up for whatever assignment Mr. Fischoeder gives me.”

            “Great!” Zeke almost shouts, and Louise feels herself smiling back; his enthusiasm is contagious. “Now let’s git on back before yer parents worry too much.”

            Louise pulls up in front of the family’s building, accepting Zeke’s compliments about her parallel parking with a scoff. “What, you think I can’t parallel park because I’m a girl?”

            Zeke shakes his head. “Nah, I figured ya couldn’t parallel park good ‘cause practically nobody can. And—“ he pats the dashboard affectionately, “this is a big ‘un.”

            Louise opens the door and hops down. She gives him a playful side-eye. “Oh, I can handle a ‘big ‘un’.”            

            The door slams, and Zeke can’t help but admire the view as she runs to unlock the front door.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            Later that evening, on his way back from the bathroom, Gene whispers to Louise, “Balcony tonight.”

            She nods and continues watching whatever dumb comedy Bob turned on the TV before he began dozing off, his middle and youngest children on either side of him. They can hear their boisterous mother in the kitchen, loudly describing their father’s back mole to Ginger. Bob begins to snore, and Louise looks over at her brother and opens her mouth, but he shakes his head. Whatever it is will have to wait.

            Two hours later, and brother and sister sit on the fire escape, swinging their legs over the side, and pass Louise’s joint between them. As far as Louise is concerned, it’s not a true “kids meeting,” because all the kids have to be present for one of those, and they haven’t had one since Christmas; this is just her and Gene, getting high and shooting the shit.

            It’s hot as balls out, Gene can almost feel gills opening on his neck to process the heavy air. Too sweltering for pajamas—not that Gene was ever in the habit of keeping clothes on anyway—Gene lounges in his boxers. Beside him, Louise relaxes in a t-shirt that’s just long enough to cover her panties, her hair braided and pinned up for sleeping. Louise, he knows, typically prefers edibles to smoking, but she lit up before he had a chance to offer her the gummies. Ordinarily he’d save them for another time, but he needs her to be nice and relaxed for this conversation, and Louise has a high tolerance, having been a stoner since she was 13. They nibble, they smoke, they snicker at nothing and everything.

            Exhaling, she passes the joint over to Gene. “What’s going down, Large Brother?”

            Gene grins. She sounds high already. He buys time by taking a drag, holding it, then exhaling slowly. “So, I was at the college today, signing up for classes.”

            “Yeah, I know.” She switches into her best Linda Belcher impression. “I’m so proud of my little Genie-Beanie! I’m going to go on and on and on about it all through dinner! He’s going to make me _soooooooooo_ proud, blah-blah-blah.”

            They laugh-snort into their hands. Shushing each other, punctuated with playful nudges, they finally calm down.

            “And I ran into Joselyn,” Gene says, as if they hadn’t derailed the conversation with a five-minute gigglefest.

            Louise leans against one of the metal bars, her eyes closed, bobbing her head a little to a song she has stuck in her head, as she often does while smoking. “She give you a beej behind the dumpsters again?”

            Gene begins snickering. He still isn’t sure if he regrets telling her that one or not. _Damn, I must be squanchy too_.

            “Not that I would have said no, but—“

            “Do you ever?”

            He pokes her shoulder. “Bi doesn’t mean easy.”

            “Usually.”

            He pokes her again, she pokes him back harder, and for a minute he considers dropping the whole thing. But he can’t, he knows it, and this is probably the best time to talk to her about it.

            “Well, she said she saw Rudy and Jessica at the movies last Sunday.”

            “Yeah?”

            “And, um, they seemed…friendly.”

            Louise turns to look at him with half-lidded eyes. She thinks for a minute, and shouts with laughter as the penny drops. “Oh my God, Gene!”

            “ _Sh!_ ”

            Louise clasps her hands over her mouth and giggles into them. Eventually she laughs herself out. “Gene, people have been talking about some combination of Jessica, Rudy, and me since the sixth grade.”

            “Well, she said she saw them kiss.”

            “People also said they saw me give him a handy in the library,” Louise shrugs. “Never happened, never will. Got any more groovy bears?”

            Gene shrugs and hands her a blue gummy.


	5. FIVE

            The restaurant is closed for the evening. Gene and Louise are upstairs making spaghetti for dinner, leaving Bob and Linda alone to close the restaurant. Bob scrapes the grill down with more care and force than is necessary, pouring oil onto the hot flat top, scrubbing with the grill brick, scraping it down, then starting again. Behind him, Linda covers pans with cling film and checks the dates. She hums softly to herself, but, recognizing his dour mood, wisely refrains from striking up conversation.

            _Well, what did I expect?_ The main area of the grill is almost impossibly shiny now, but the corners are still dark. He takes a small chunk of an old grill brick, oils it, and begins to scour the black spots. _After all, I’m the one who hired a hot-blooded young man to work in close quarters with my teenage daughter._ Bob was never the swaggering alpha-male sort, but he knows how girls respond to them. He also knows what he would have done, if he were twenty-one and put in that situation. Of course Louise, who isn’t nearly as streetwise as she likes to believe, would be vulnerable! Thank God she has him to look after her; too bad her mother doesn’t listen to him.

            “Oh Bobby,” Linda sighs, giving the prep table a final wipedown. “Stop brooding.”

            “I’m not brooding, Lin.”

             “Yes you are, you’re like a mother hen and her chicks.”

             “I’m not—“ He sighs deeply. “I just think it’s a mistake.”

             Linda tosses the rag into the ragbag. “Oh, pooh. It’s as innocent as could be, and I like that he came to us first.”

            Bob grunts. It’s true that Zeke seemed to understand how awkward it was for him to want to take a barely sixteen year-old to the movies.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

              Zeke arrived at work all smiles. As usual, business was dead at three on Monday afternoon, giving Bob, Linda, and Zeke plenty of time to prep for dinner.

              “G’afternoon, Mr. B, Mrs. B,” Zeke said, tying on his apron. “Where should I start?”

               Bob gestured to the stack of dry goods boxes. “I hate to do it to you, but it’s a late delivery.”

              “Ain’t no trouble at all, Mr. B.” Zeke took a box cutter out of his pocket and began to slice open the top seam of one of the packages.

              “I hope our Louise hasn’t been a problem,” Linda said from the dish area.

              “Problem? No ma’m, Louise ain’t been no problem.”

               “I mean with the driving lessons.”

               Zeke chuckled. “Well, she still grinds the gears a bit, but her parkin’s perfect.”

               “Just let us know if she’s too much of a hassle,” Bob said. “Teaching our daughter to drive isn’t exactly part of the job description here.”

                “Honestly Mr. B, I think she’s ready for her test now.”

                Linda shook her head. “I just can’t imagine my baby with a driver’s license. “

                “Lin, don’t start that again.”

                Linda began openly sniffling. “All our baby birds are flying the nest, Bobby.”

                “Well,” Bob chuckled, looking vaguely confused, “isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?”

                “Oh, shut up,” Linda snapped. Muttering to herself and making disgruntled noises, she grabbed the bags of trash and lugged them outside.

                Bob and Zeke exchanged a raised eyebrow; _What’s eating her_? Bob smiled apologetically and shrugged. He didn’t know exactly what set her off, but Linda would get over it.

                Alone now in the kitchen, Zeke said quietly, his voice couched with even more courtesy than usual, “Um, Mr. B, I have a question for you.”

                Bob raised his brows, encouraging him to continue.

                “Well sir, I found out they’re showing _When We Were Kings_ this Wednesday on Kingshead Island, and I was wonderin’ if I could take Louise. It’s a one-time showing,” he added a little nervously.

                Bob blinked. “Are you asking if you can date my daughter?”

                “Oh, no sir,” Zeke laughed. “I just know she’d wanna see it, and you wouldn’t want her to travel there by herself. I wanna take ‘er as a friend.”

                Stalling, pretending that she hadn’t told him about the documentary a million times since finding it on YouTube last year, Bob feigned ignorance. “What’s so special about it?”

                “It’s all about Muhammad Ali and George Foreman’s fight in…uh, I dunno. Somewhere in Africa. The Rumble in the Jungle.”

                “Yeah,” Bob pretended to remember, just barely refraining from telling Zeke it happened in Zaire.

                “Oh Bobby, she’d have her own chaperone!” Standing in the doorway, having heard the whole thing, Linda beamed at Zeke. “Aren’t you thoughtful?”

                Bob felt the situation beginning to get away from him. “Lin, I don’t think—“

                “When is it?”

                “It’s at 5:30 on Wednesday, Mrs. B.”

                “Aw, that will give you plenty of time to get dinner too.”

                “Linda! Basement! Now!”

                It was Linda’s turn to cast an apologetic look at Zeke. She followed her husband into the basement. Positively stomping, he stopped at the Louise Lair, the little corner Louise set up as her personal gym.

                “You see nothing wrong with this, nothing at all?” He hissed, incredulous that he had to spell out the obvious to his wife.

                 Linda’s whispers were stage whispers. “No, Bob, I don’t. No boy tries to seduce a girl by taking her to watch a boxing documentary on a Wednesday.”

                 Bob sighed. “He’s twenty-one Linda, he’s a grown man. And our daughter isn’t exactly…normal.”

                 “Our Louise is perfectly normal! Sort of. “

                 “You were just upset that she was flying the nest! And have you forgotten that he was the Mad Pooper?”

                  “Oh yeah, the Butt-ler,” Linda mused. Honestly, she _had_ forgotten all about it, finding it impossible to connect the scatty teenage vandal with the courteous young grill cook. She brightened as a thought occurred to her. “That was almost ten years ago, Bobby. He can’t be a grown man _and_ the boy who pooped all over the school at the same time.”

                  Bob was so frustrated he was ready to pull his remaining hair out by the roots. He wished his wife would trust his instincts on this one. Zeke was a valuable employee, and he liked the man personally. Aside from Zeke’s charm, Bob would find it hard to not like someone who cited him as a mentor and inspiration on his school application. Still, he hadn’t missed the way Zeke’s eyes occasionally followed Louise, appreciating how tight that damn Kuchi Kopi shirt was. Linda liked to make a big deal about her mom-sense; couldn’t she admit that maybe he had dad-sense? He was glad now that Tina hadn’t really blossomed until she went to college, where he didn’t have to see or deal with it; being the father of an underage man-magnet was infinitely harder than being the father of impossibly awkward, sexually frustrated boy-repellent.

                 “Bobby, he asked us—no, he asked _you_ —before he said anything to her. You’re his mentor. Let her go, she’ll love it.”

                 Okay, Linda had a point. The guy seemed to understand the potential awkwardness, and was being respectful, Bob had to give him that. And Louise really would be delighted to see the documentary on the big screen. He sighed, knowing he’d been outmaneuvered. “Her curfew stands.”

                 Linda threw her arms around him. “Oh, Bobby!”

                “But I want to talk to him privately.”

                Bob entered the kitchen first. Zeke looked up from the corner where was collapsing the empty boxes. “I didn’t mean to cause no problems, Mr. B.”

                “You didn’t,” Bob said, taking out his own box cutter and joining Zeke. “But I’m her father, and she’s very young. You understand.”

                “I do, sir.”

                “I don’t care what she tells you, her curfew is midnight.”

                “She’ll be home on time, Mr. B.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does the phrase “the boy who pooped all over the school” make me laugh every time I read it?


	6. SIX

                 “I never see you dorks anymore!”

                  “Well, it’s not our fault we have PSAT class today.”

                   Louise makes a face at Rudy. She called him first on Skype, but since Jessica is with him, preparing for their stupid summer class, she can at least talk to the both of them.

                   Jessica peeks into view. “Does widdle Louisey miss her fwends?”

                   “You losers? Hell no,” she scoffs. Ever since Tina went off to college, Louise has found herself depending more on Jessica and Rudy. They’re almost her secondary sibling group, and she feels vaguely ungrounded without them. “I just thought since I have the day off, I’d bless you with my presence.”

                   “Well, you have to get ready for your big date with Zeke,” Rudy grins.

                   Louise throws her head back. “Oh my God, stop saying that! I’m just going to see a documentary with _Zeke_.”

                   Smelling blood, Jessica pushes Rudy out of the screen. “You two will be alone snuggled up in the dark, and you’ll reach to get popcorn at the same time. Your hands will touch—“

                   Louise makes vomiting noises.

                   “You’re just so fun to wind up,” Rudy says, nudging Jessica over.

                   “Yeah, whatever, I’ll catch you two dipshits later.”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

                  She has only a few hours to kill before Zeke picks her up. Louise goes for a short run, decides it’s way too hot for that, and completes her cardio by jumping rope in the basement, followed up by some time on the speed bag. Begrudgingly, she folds and puts away the towels her mother has been nagging her about for two days, then watches epic fails on YouTube, most of which end with groin hits, until it’s time to shower.

                  Clean, moisturized, with her long curls refreshed, Louise stands in front of her closet wearing her favorite black panties and bra, the bunny pendant her father gave her for her thirteenth birthday around her neck, and realizes that she has a problem. She let them—all of them—get in her head.

                  Her mother and Gene have teased her relentlessly about her “big date” with Zeke. Gene kept his ruder comments for when they were alone (“One good turn deserves another, right Louise? Nothing says thank you like a surprise beej!”). At least her father has tried to squash the teasing.

                  Of course it’s not a date, any idiot can see that. But it’s not exactly…not _not_ a date, either. Zeke wouldn’t have had to talk to her dad first if they were just hanging out, and her dad doesn’t remind her of her curfew three times in one day under normal circumstances. _What the hell do you wear to a not_ not _date?_

                  Temporarily giving up on clothes, she turns to her makeup. She fills in her brows the way Tina taught her, pats her lips with her favorite your-lips-but-better stain, and tops them off with Tina’s purloined gloss. She taps on some concealer, smudges a tiny bit of eyeliner around her eyes, and rounds off the look with mascara and a dab of highlighter in the corners of her eyes. She smiles at herself in the mirror; she looks polished, fresh and awake, but not overdone or—God forbid—like she really tried.

                  Clothes, however, are another matter, and she spends so much effort trying on, rejecting, and cursing her wardrobe that she looses track of time. She has a shit-ton of clothes, some of them even on hangers and not wadded up on the floor, and for the first time in her life she understands what women mean when they look at an overflowing closet and wail that they have nothing to wear. Louise makes a mental note to remedy this situation ASAP. She’s tying her bootlaces when she hears her mother’s voice sing-song in the living room.

                 “Hi Zeke, don’t you look nice.”

 _Crap!_ She hopes she looks okay, because clearly this is the outfit she’s wearing. She flings open the door just as Linda calls out to her.

                 “Louise! Zeke’s here.”

                 “God, I can hear you all over the house,” Louise yells.

                 “Ready to go?”

                 “ _Please_ get me out of here.”

                 Zeke hovers a hand over the small of her back, guiding her to the stairs.

                 Linda calls out to them. “Now remember, curfew is midnight, Miss Missy!”

                 “Oh my God mom, _I know_.”

                 “You got it, Mrs. B!”

                 Louise sighs with relief as she shuts the door behind them.

                 “I thought we’d walk to the ferry, if that’s alright with you,” he says.

                 Louise agrees; they’re only three blocks away, and parking for the ferry is murder. It’s still hot out, but not very muggy today, and the frustration of the drive wouldn’t be worth the air conditioning.

                Zeke, to her intense annoyance, insists on paying for their fare, which is embarrassing since he also bought the movie tickets. Louise resolves to herself that there’s no way in hell he’s paying for the popcorn.

                They stand on the deck of the ferry for the crossing. Louise leans on the railing, completely ignoring all the signs telling her to do the opposite, and lets the ocean breeze blow her hair back. Zeke is next to her, so close her shoulder is warm from the heat of his body. She turns to find him staring at her, a lopsided smile on his face.

                “What?”

                He shrugs. She can see that his hair is freshly cut, and he trimmed the scruff on his face so it looks like a deliberate fashion choice. “Just takin’ in some of nature’s beauty.”

                Louise groans and feels her face turn pink. “God, you’re terrible.”

                His smile broadens. “I gotta flirt with ya a little, girl. Practice makes perfect.”

                “Well, you need it. What are you going to do next, ask me my sign?” Louise could slap herself; what the hell did she just say?

                “Oh, so ya want me to flirt with you some more?” He raises his brows, and his eyes, more green than brown in the sunlight, travel from her dark eyes to her lips and back.

                “You’re just—ugh!”

               “Aw, don’t work yerself up about it, girl. I’m just playin’ with ya.” He gives her shoulder a playful nudge with his own. She nudges back, a half-smile on her face. They palm it off as a joke and exchange silly insults. Still, though Louise stares at the horizon, she knows his eyes don’t leave her body for the rest of the ride.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

               They arrive with time to spare. Louise buys the popcorn and drinks. She’d be more satisfied with making her point if she didn’t have the feeling that Zeke _let_ her do it, like he’s indulging her. They find their seats in the half-full theatre, and relax in the air conditioning as low-budget commercials for local businesses and pretentious ads for foreign movies flicker before them. Louise wants to make fun of them, but that’s too close to The Burn Unit, and she only plays that game with her father.

               Louise isn’t aware that she’s cold until she gives a little shiver. Clearly, she chose her outfit badly. She’s wearing dark grey jeans, fashionably broken in with large holes, and a black, cropped peasant top with short lace sleeves, a hand-me-down from Tina that she’d absently shoved into the back of her closet and forgotten about until today. Her beloved Docs, too rarely worn this summer, complete the look, even though they aren’t as comfortable as they usually are for some reason.

               Zeke shifts slightly. He lifts his arms up in an ridiculously exaggerated stretch, emits a fake yawn, and rests his arm on the back of her seat, effectively hugging her. Louise turns to him and rolls her eyes: _Really?_ He raises an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin tucked into the corner of his mouth. It’s so absurd she can’t be offended, or bite his hand. _After all_ , she tells herself, _warmth is warmth_. She adjusts so she can rest her cheekbone on his muscular shoulder. He pulls her in a bit closer and strokes her hair. It’s…nice.

               Louise can smell his cologne, some sort of woodsy manly-man thing. Suddenly, a new realization hits her square in the gut; Zeke is a _man_. Not a boy on the school bus, not some random guy she has to partner up with in science class. He’s a grown man. His cologne makes sense, it’s not some compensation for an adulthood he hasn’t quite reached.   There’s an earthiness in him that pulls at her, simultaneously attracting and slightly frightening her. Mostly intrigued, Louise stays in the crook of his arm, inhaling his scent and vaguely wondering if she’s getting in over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louise's outfit is based on one I saw on a customer at work. I was too shy to compliment the lady's look, so I dressed Louise in it instead.


	7. SEVEN

          “That! Was! Amazing!” Louise declares from her seat at Jose Queso’s, a little Mexican restaurant near the dock, where they’re devouring complimentary chips and salsa.

          Zeke looks up from his menu. “I didn’t know much about The Rumble before. It was great!”

          “How could a sports nut like you not know about The Rumble in the Jungle?”

          “I didn’t say I didn’t know _nuthin’_ about it, just that I didn’t know _much_ about it. I’m kinda seein’ why you like boxing so much.”

          “We should spar some time at the Y.”

           His grin broadens. “You askin’ me out on a date, Miz Louise?”

           She reaches across the table to whack him with her menu.

           He shakes his head. “A pretty lady like you’s gotta git used to guys takin’ a chance.”

           Louise’s lip curls. “I’m not a lady.”

           “Sure ya are, you just don’t know it yet.”

           The waiter interrupts them to take their order and refresh their drinks. Since the restaurant serves everything “ _familia_ style,” they order a dish of beef enchiladas to split between the two of them.

           “Whatchoo got against bein’ a lady, anyway?” Zeke asks as soon as the waiter is out of earshot.

            Louise scoffs. “You know, a lady’s all frills and dresses and helpless. Men have to take care of her.” Her voice takes on a higher register. “Oh, I’m a lady, I can’t do anything myself, ‘cause I might break a nail, boo-hoo-hooooo.”

            Zeke finishes off his chip and licks a trace of salsa from his thumb. “See, I knew you didn’t know what yer talkin’ about. A lady—“ he continues, cutting over her protest, “is a woman who is feminine but ain’t weak, an’ respects herself and others to always both give and receive the best treatment, or leaves to find it elsewhere. Yer a bit rough, but yer a lady to me.”

           Louise _pifts_.

           “My grandma was a lady. She could take a rabbit every step from the field to the stew pot by herself, but that didn’t stop her from flirting with the orderlies ‘till the day she died.”

           “You stole the mascot uniform to entertain her, didn’t you?”

           “Yep. My momma had me real young, so Grandma June was kinda my momma, really.” He pauses. “God, I miss that ol’ lady.”

            Louise doesn’t know what to say. It’s kind of nice, really, the way he talks about his grandmother. “Where are you from, anyway?”

            “Alabama,” he says. “Grandma first taught me how to cook BBQ there. That’s why I’m gonna name my restaurant after her: Granny June’s BBQ.”

            She leans forward, feeling on much safer ground now. “That’s your plan?”

            “Yep. I’m gonna work for our bosses for a bit an’ save up, then build me a real, Southern barbeque restaurant, prob’ly over here on Kingshead.”

             Louise thinks for a minute, mentally flipping through the cuisines offered by restaurants in the area. “You won’t have much competition.”

            “I know! Perfect, ain’t it?”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

             They stand again on the deck of the ferry back to Seymour Bay. It’s much cooler this time, and Louise, rejecting his suggestion that they go inside, makes no objection when he curls an arm around her to warm her up. Part of her wants to elbow him in the ribs, but she can’t turn off the primal, reptilian part of her brain that pulls her to him. Assuring herself once more that she’s just seeking warmth, that she’s not at all attracted to his beefy arms and the weird charisma he practically oozes out of every pore, she wraps an arm around his waist, hooking her thumb on his belt loop. He’s wearing a rockabilly western shirt, black, with pearl snaps and flaming skulls, the sleeves rolled up to display his tattoo. It’s cheesy, but he wears it well.

             “We gotta make a stop at The Warf,” he says.

             “Uh, sure.” Louise is glad to be drawn out of her thoughts. “I could go for a spin on The Scrambler.”

             He laughs softly. “We sure can, honey, but first we gotta stop to see Mickey.”

             “Oh?”

             “Yeah, he’s gotta make yer ID.”

             “My ID?” Louise is louder than she meant to be, earning a hush from Zeke. Nobody is standing near them. She glares at him, but continues quietly, “Mr. Fischoeder is issuing me a club card or something?”

            “Nah girl, ya need a fake ID.”

            “Mickey already made me one of those,” Louise scoffs.

            “Not a good one.”

            “He charged me fifty bucks!”

            “This one would cost ya closer to five-fifty. And ya can only use it on business. Ya wanna buy alcohol, use the cheap one.”

            Louise makes a face. “Alcohol is gross.”

            “Yer weird,” he says, shaking his head. Then, after a pause, “You know, I never asked why ya wanna work for Mr. Fischoder anyway.”

            Louise steps out of his arms. His overpowering manliness, the moonlight dancing on the waves, and the memories of getting high and making out with Rudy that come with it are making it difficult to think. “I want to start my future without debt.”

            “Oh?”

            “I don’t want to live like my parents do, always worrying about money. I want to graduate college without loans, even have a little nest egg.”

            “You goin’ to culinary school?”

            “Nah. I mean, I know I could learn things there, but is it enough to justify the cost? You said it costs you over six grand a semester, plus living expenses.”

            “So yer sayin’ I talked you out of culinary school?”

            She pokes him in the shoulder. “No, stupid, I mean you talked me into thinking of a better way of reaching my goal. Dad’s all but promised me the restaurant, and I was practically born in one of the booths. So what I really need to learn in school is management. I’m going to get a business associates—“

            “Seymore Community offers that, don’t they?”

            Louise nods. “I can ride my bike to campus, and live at home while getting my degree. Then I’ll do something online with hospitality management. Meanwhile, I’ll work at the restaurant a couple of days a week, and get short-term gigs at other restaurants around town, kinda like you’re doing.”

            “Your own internship,” he says. “That’s real smart of ya.”

            “You don’t have to sound so impressed.”

            “I _am_ impressed.” He rumples her hair. “Most kids your age ain’t thought it through that good.”

            Cursing, Louise smoothes her hair. “Kids my age! You’re barely old enough to drink.”

            “You’re barely old enough to drive,” he says. “Speaking of, when you gonna git yer license?”

            “Dad’s taking me in two weeks. Thank God.”

            The boat is slowing down now, as they make the final approach to the dock. “Hold the handrail, girl. You know you won’t be the last person in yer grade to git yer license, right?”

            “If you ain’t first, you’re last!”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

             Louise and Zeke, splitting a puff of cotton candy, approach the ring toss booth.

            “Mickey, don’t you have any shame?”

            Mickey looks up and throws a magazine under the counter. “I’m just reading it for the articles!”

            “I don’t mean your gross magazine,” Louise says, offering him a chunk of pink spun sugar. “Charging me for that cheap thing.”

            Nobody is around the booth, but Mickey shushes her anyway. “That’s how Mickey makes his spare money,” he says. “Give me a sec, I’ll call for my breaker, and we’ll go to the back.”

            A few minutes later, Mickey guides them through the back-of-house warren, and sits her down in front of the camera. “It’s gonna take a few days,” Mickey says. “It’ll be ready for you to pickup after your shift on Wednesday.”

            “I’m off Wednesday,” she says.

            “No, you’re covering a security shift with me here. Didn’t you tell her?” Mickey says, turning to Zeke.

            “I was fixin’ to!”

            Mickey hits the button, and that’s why Louise is frowning like a felon in her ID photo.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            Zeke insists that they leave the Warf after that.

            “Come on, old man, it’s barely 10:30!”

            “But yer daddy’s gonna be up until you come home,” he says. “And you both open tomorrow.”

            “So?”

            “So I’m droppin’ ya off early as a courtesy to him.”

            “You don’t care about my beauty sleep?” She teases, surprising herself as much as him by actually batting her eyes at him under the streetlights. Honestly, she’s not that upset about it; Zeke is right, and her toes hurt, anyway.

            He looks her over with a grin. “Yer beautiful enough on the outside, but we all know the real you comes out if ya’ don’t git yer eight hours.”

            “Go to hell, Zeke.”

            “Goodnight to you too, Louise.”


	8. EIGHT

            Louise lugs the last bag of old clothes to the family car. It’s so humid out that she can practically cut the air like a cake, and she seriously contemplates just giving up and melting into a puddle on the sidewalk rather than hauling herself back up the stairs again. Somehow, she makes it back into the apartment. She grabs some water on the way back to her room, angles the standing fan so it’s blowing on her, and collapses on her desk chair.

            She already planned to spend the afternoon cleaning out her bulging closet and overflowing dresser, and apparently her mother read her mind. After breakfast, Linda slipped Louise her annual pre-paid school clothes credit card. “There’s $200 on it this year, sweetie.”

            “Two hundred?” Louise was impressed; last year it was only $125.

            Linda scrubbed ketchup off a dish. “Yeah, well, we’ve been doing well this summer, and you’re a growing girl.”

            “I know,” Louise sighed.

            So now she sprawls on the chair and takes in what’s left of her wardrobe. Having bagged or binned everything that doesn’t fit, is irreparably damaged, or just too ugly to exist in her universe, she’s left with a pitifully tiny pile of clothes on her bed, most of which is just workout gear and undergarments. She knows she shouldn’t be surprised. Louise is as serious about workout gear as she is about everything else to do with physical fitness, so she replaces her shoes and other clothes regularly. As for bras and panties, she still cringes when she thinks about how much dough she forked over to Victoria and her stupid Secret. Desperate for replacements earlier this summer, she’d gone to Walmart as per usual where she discovered, to her eternal embarrassment, that she’s no longer content with packaged underwear and scratchy bras sold across from the automotive department. Even though it cost her a king’s ransom, and now she has to hand-wash everything to protect her investment, Louise has no real regrets. There’s just something indescribably luxurious about slipping on a pretty, matching, high-quality bra and panty set.

            Beyond that, she’s left with four pairs of shorts—two of which she’s sure her Dad would tell her to bag up—the jeans she wore on her not _not_ date with Zeke, one pair of leggings, a skirt her mother would want her to bag up with the shorts, the sneakers on her feet, and about a dozen shirts, all but three of which are either tank tops or t-shirts. Even her beloved Docs didn’t make the cut. Though still in good shape, they’re only a size 8 ½, and her Converse, which she bought at the end of last school year, are 9’s. She puts them aside to pass on; Jessica, who’s never worn hand-me-downs in her life, probably won't want them, but Tina might.

            Louise digs out an old notebook and pen from her desk, and lists everything she’s going to have to buy, with an estimated cost next to it. Finished, she reads it over and groans, pinching the bridge of her nose with frustration. Conservatively, her new wardrobe will cost somewhere between $150 to $250 out of her own pocket, depending partly on how fancy she wants to be, and—worse yet—if Goodwill carries her size in tall jeans. It’s a serious concern. This time last year, Louise was a very average 5’4”, so length wasn’t a problem. She’s now a touch over 5’8, climbing rapidly to 5’9. By this time next year she could easily hit her projected adult height of 5’11”. God, what if Walmart doesn’t carry tall-enough jeans either? Louise can practically see dollar signs flying out the window.

            She rubs her face. It’s not that she doesn’t have the money; Louise has over six grand hidden in the apartment. But how the hell is she supposed to plan for her future when she has stupid, bullshit, everyday, immediate concerns, like clothes? She can’t ask her parents for more money—they’re already giving her extra, plus covering her school supplies, and even her school pictures and yearbook, which Louise thinks is pretty generous, given that pictures and yearbooks aren’t necessities. True, she’s making great tips now, but she knows from experience that business dries up during the winter, and—

            _Crap_! She forgot to factor in the car! Her parents told her they’ll cover her insurance, but she’ll have to fill the gas tank at least once a month, more if she uses the car “a lot”, whatever that means. She also has to fork over a $25 a month maintenance fee.

            Heart racing, Louise can practically smell Benjamins going up in flames. What the hell is she going to do? Working for Fischoeder— _Mr._ Fischoeder, she reminds herself—isn’t really an option at this point, it’s a necessity. It’s imperative that she does whatever it takes to impress him. But that could take months; Zeke said it took him almost a full year to become a real, sworn-in Associate. She needs money _now_. What can she do to make money _now_ , or, at the very least, cut her expenses?

            Louise takes out her phone, figuring she might as well start doing some research. But first, she has to clear away, like, a million Facebook and Instagram notifications. She pauses, and grins. Louise has a brilliant idea.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            Louise meets Zeke just inside the entrance to Wonder Warf at exactly 11:50 Wednesday morning. He’s holding two snow cones, and hands her one.

            “Thanks,” she says, licking the glistening liquid off the blue ball of ice with a long lap of her tongue. “I’m sweating buckets already.”

            Zeke pretends to scope out the Ferris wheel. “You’ll be inside watching security cameras. I’m gonna be walkin’ the beat.”

            “Alright then, Officer Zeke. Don’t taze me, bro!”

            They walk to the back offices in companionable silence. Zeke catches two other guys check her out as they walk by. Not that he can blame them; the grey tank top shows off her sculpted shoulders, and those little olive shorts of hers, though not as skimpy as the cutoffs he can’t get out of his head, are still short enough to make the most of her long legs. Unaware of his eyes on her, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and gives the snowcone a long slurp, her full lips puffing out in such a way that Zeke has to drag his eyes away again. There’s no denying it—he’s walking the boardwalk with the hottest piece of ass in town.

            Mickey is her partner this shift “Just six hours, Baby B, and we leave only for bathroom breaks. Trust me, you’ll be glad it isn’t longer.”

            Having spent more than one twelve-hour shift on her feet, Louise shrugs. “All we have to do is sit here.”

            “You’ll see.”

            She gets it around hour two. They can’t really do anything but talk and play cards. Mickey ruthlessly cleans her out after the first hour, but she had only ten bucks on her, and he gives her an IOU for Wonder Warf tacos, so she isn’t too upset.   After that, there’s nothing to do except watch the growing crowds. Zeke occasionally looks up at the cameras and winks. Watching people, seeing the weird or gross things they do when they think nobody is looking, is kind of like playing God. She and Mickey make it interesting by keeping a tally of gropers and pickers, and by the end Louise resolves to keep hand sanitizer on her at all times.   Around four o’clock, Mickey spots a team of shoplifters at one of the souvenir booths. “See, she’s distracting Carlos, while _she_ —“ Mickey points to another woman, slipping a handful of key chains in her purse, “--gets the goods.”

            “They’re risking jail for tacky souvenirs? You at least robbed a bank.”

            Mickey scoffs too. “Yeah, trust me, they _don’t_ want to tell anyone why they got arrested.”

            Mickey reports the theft to Zeke, and Louise watches over Mickey’s shoulder as Zeke all but tackles the two ladies. The police show up a minute later, a falling rack of t-shirts sends a cage of bouncing balls flying everywhere, and for a full five minutes it’s the sort of pandemonium that Louise glories in. Then, it’s back to boredom for another hour.

            The phone rings. Mickey picks it up, listens for a minute, and motions to Louise. “Hey, Baby B, it’s Zeke.”

            She puts the call on conference, because she hates holding the receiver on grandpa phones. She practically yawns. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

            “Uh, Louise darlin’, I just saw Rudy and Jessica.”

             They didn’t even mention going to the Warf to her. Wow, nice to be ditched by her best friends.

             “Okay?”

              “They’re over by the Ferris wheel.”   There’s an edge to his tone that makes her hackles rise.

              Deep down she knows she shouldn’t look, she's going to regret it if she does, but, as usual, Louise can’t resist. “Hey Mickey, which monitor is the Ferris wheel?”

            “Number eight, Baby B.”

            She can see them, tiny and in black and white, at the end of the line. “Weird. From this angle, it looks like they’re holding hands.”

            “Mm, yeah, about that—“

            Tiny Rudy leans over and kisses tiny Jessica on the lips. Louise literally rubs her eyes; she must be hallucinating, or having a stroke or something. They part and rub noses, giving each other Eskimo kisses.

             “ _What the hell_?!?”

            “Now sugar—“

            “ _Don’t_ call me sugar! Those sneaky little—they—they—“

            Mickey tries to intervene. “Calm down, Baby B.”

            Louise hears Zeke groan; nobody in the history of ever has calmed down because someone ordered them to do so, and Louise Belcher sure as hell won’t be the first.

            “Calm down? _Calm down_! Don’t tell me to calm down! Shut up, tell _them_ to calm down, then shut up again! I’m gonna slap the stupid out of—“

            Mickey grabs her arm. He’s stronger than he looks, she can’t jerk away. “You have to stay here, Baby B. Mr. Fischoeder’s orders.”

            Zeke’s voice is tense. “You gotta stay there fer yer whole shift.”

            “Screw my shift!”

            “It’s part of the deal, girl.”

            She manages to finally jerk her arm away from Mickey. “I’m gonna slap the stupid out of both of them, and then—“

            “Louise! School!”

            That brings her up short. She stops at the doorway. Zeke’s right of course. She can’t let those lying, sneaking bastards ruin her chance to work for Mr. Fischoeder. There’s just too much at stake. Fuck them. Fuck friends, she needs money.

            She flings herself back into her chair. “Fine, I’ll murder them after work.”

            “Tell ya what, Louise,” Zeke says, “I’ll swing by at six, and we’ll go back to my place.”

            “Zeke, you don’t have enough weed to calm me down. Lying, double-crossing _assholes_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, shit. Meet fan.


	9. NINE

            As promised, Zeke stops by the security office to pick her up at the end of their shift. He finds Mickey flung back in his chair, clearly exhausted. Louise jumps up, shouts, “Bathroom!” and barrels past Zeke.

            “She said she didn’t trust herself to get out of that chair until you got here.”

            Zeke sighs and rubs his face. “So, she’s takin’ it real good.”

            “I didn’t know she knew some of those words.” Mickey thinks for a minute. “Do you think she’s jealous of Rudy or Jessica?”

            That brings Zeke up short. Thanks to local gossip and his own observations, he has a pretty good idea about Louise’s past with Rudy, but he’s never thought about her and Jessica in that light. “I dunno.”

            Louise all but stomps by his side on their way back to his truck. “So, girl,” he says, opening the passenger side so she can hop in, “you still up fer hangin’ out with me?”

            “You don’t have to worry about me, “ she says. “I never want to see either of them again. They want to keep secrets, and sneak around, and treat me like I’m stupid, fine. That’s on them. Screw ‘em.”

            Zeke gets in, starts the truck, and turns on the air conditioning. “You don’t wanna kill ‘em?”

            She tries to glare the smirk off of his face. “They aren’t worth jail. Fuck friends. They just pull you down.”

            “Now that’s a shame,” he says lightly. “’Cause I thought _we’re_ friends.”

            That brings her up short. Louise blinks. “Yeah, I guess we are.” She thinks for a minute. “When the hell did that happen?”

            It’s such a pure, Louise-like thing to say that he can’t help but to laugh. “I dunno, but here we are.”

            She struggles, but looses against a small, tight smile. “So, _friend_. You gonna get me fucked up?”

            He sets his jaw, trying not to think too deeply about all the implications of _that_ one. “On one condition.”

            “What?”

            “You gotta talk to me, girl. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s what.”

            Louise sighs. She’d much rather just get squanchy and blank it all out. But still, there’s a part of her that _would_ like to talk about it, and she’s confident that Zeke, contrary to all appearances, is the sort of person she could talk to about this, who could help her unravel the snarl in her heart. They really are friends, after all.

            “You’d better have good shit,” she says. “Actually, no.”

            “No?”

            “I wanna get good and drunk, not high.”

            Zeke does a double-take, making Louise laugh.

            “I know, right? Things are bad when _I_ don’t want to get high.”

            _Well, that makes things more difficult._ Getting her past her parents while stoned would be hard enough; drunk is impossible. He almost refuses and takes her home. Then he looks over at her, curled up on the passenger seat, pretending that those are angry tears in the corners of her big dark eyes. He sighs. Damn, he’s such a softie. “I got beer, whiskey, rum, and vodka.”

            “Good enough.”

            They work out a plan on the way back to his place. Zeke rents the basement of his cousin’s house, a shitty little crackerjack house on the shittier edge of town, he tells her, but the rent is cheap and he’s only staying until the semester starts up in the fall.

            “Wait a minute, is that the rhyming cousin who only eats things out of cans?”

            “Leslie, the very same, don’t be lame.”

            She pinches the bridge of her nose and groans.

            “Don’t worry, he spends most of the time at his girlfriend’s house.”

            Louise shoves her phone in his face as he’s idling at a light. “Does this sound all nice and friendly?”

            He reads the text quickly. It’s to Jessica, asking her to cover while she, Louise, is out all night. “We’ve done this before, it’ll be fine,” Louise assures him.

            “It sounds natural. And how many times have ya been out all night gittin’ hammered with boys, li’l lady?”

            “None of your damn business.”

            Zeke laughs, glad to hear Louise’s spirit returning. He’s not surprised; sneaking and plotting always brings out the best in her. A few minutes later, Louise says, “Good, she said yes. Now to call Dad…”

            Zeke pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, listening to Louise, who’s pasted a big smile on her face, chirp happily to her father about spending the night at Jessica’s, even thanking him for giving her permission. He feels a little guilty for helping Louise fool Mr. B like that, but he did promise Mr. Fischoeder he’d look after the kid, which, in Zeke’s book, also includes preventing her from going on a rampage.

           

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            _Zeke was right_ , Louise thinks to herself, biting into a hotdog, _getting me away was the best thing he could have done_.

            Zeke gave her a quick tour of the tiny house, and took her down to the basement. Small, damp, with a concrete floor and a broken foosball table in the corner, it feels a bit like a prison cell, but it’s clean and tidy, with it’s own little kitchen and bathroom, and there’s a backdoor directly to the porch. Once outside, they cook hotdogs on the grill, falling into the easy rhythm they enjoy at the restaurant. Zeke cooks, while Louise preps the plates and fixings between sips of the big rum and Coke he mixed for her.

            They finish eating and sit side-by-side in companionable silence, watching as twilight creeps in. He has his boots up on an empty chair, while Louise stretches out on the lounge. Zeke tries not to think about her seemingly endless golden brown legs stretched out in the sun at Mudflap’s place, the sight that launched a thousand faps. Lightning bugs blink in the overgrown grass in the yard. Zeke finishes off his second beer, tries to toss the can into the trash, and misses wide.

            “Not a basketball player, are you?”

            “At my height? I’m better at gaga ball!”

            “God, you were awful.” She laughs, remembering how uncoordinated he was, what an easy mark he proved to be. Then she begins laughing some more, laughing at herself laughing.

            “Shit honey, you _are_ a lightweight.”

            She blows a raspberry at him.

            “Very mature, too.”

            “I just don’t drink very much.”

            “Why?”

            “I don’t like to.”

            “Why?”

            “Who are you, Comrade Questions?”

            “Just tryin’ to git to know you better.”

            She side-eyes him. “That’s why I don’t drink much.”

            “Because you’re a talker?”

            “Because I’m a talker and guys like to use that as an opportunity to get to “know” me better, if you know what I mean.”

            Zeke reaches over and takes her hand. “Louise honey, I ain’t tryin’ to take advantage of ya. You know that.”

            “I know,” she says, and even in the fading light he can tell that she really does. “I also know what guys try to do when a girl is half-drunk.”

            Something uncomfortable stirs in him, and he remembers a flash of glasses and bobbed black hair. He no longer had a crush on Tina by the time they had sex, but it sure had been fun; his inner 13-year-old did victory laps for days afterwards. _Does Louise know?_ Not that he can say anything of course; a gentleman never asks _or_ tells, in his opinion. She’s smirking at him. “Well, uh, that was a long time ago. And yer a minor, and I ain’t gonna disrespect you or your daddy like that.”

            Louise shrugs. They’re quiet for a while longer, and Zeke thinks she might be falling asleep, when Louise says suddenly, “Rudy and I have kind of a history, you know?”

            Of course Zeke knows this; putting idle rumor and conjecture aside, there’s only one reason a guy stands outside of a girl’s bedroom window holding a boom box. “Oh?”

            She nods, her head a bit loose on her neck. “We were fourteen, each other’s firsts. We wanted to know what it was like, just as fuck buddies. Well, I wanted a fuck buddy, he thought it was _twooo lurrrrv_ or whatever. Things got…weird.”

            “Do ya regret it?”

            “It kind of hurt, but—“

            “Well yeah, y’all were virgins. I’m sure you’ve fucked better guys since.”

            “No.”

            He looks over at her, incredulous. “Yer first lover was yer best?”

            She sighs, as if he’s missing the obvious. “No, I haven’t had _any_ others.”

            “Nobody?”

            “No.” She pauses. “I used to carry condoms to parties with me, just in case.”

            Zeke is glad it’s too dark now for her to see him grin. “You don’t anymore?”

            “I don’t want to do it with anyone, or at least, anyone who wants to do it with me, and everyone kept “borrowing” them. I didn’t want to be known as Condom Girl. It’s not funny, Zeke!”

            “Yeah it is, girl. It’s adorable.” Still, he manages to stop chuckling. “So there ain’t been nobody else, not even Jessica?”

            “Why are you asking me about my sex life? Maybe I should ask about yours?”

            He shrugs, and reaches out to play with her hair. “You brought it up. And ask away—what d’ya want to know?”

            “Ugh!” She drinks a bit more, shudders, and lays back down.

            They’re quiet for a few minutes. She adjusts slightly, moves closer to him. “I like what you’re doing to my hair.”

            “You got beautiful hair,” he says quietly, feeling the long curls slide under his thick fingers. He catches a whiff of her body oil or whatever she uses to keep her skin soft and delicious-smelling, something sugary with a touch of vanilla.   “Don’t change the subject on me. What about Jessica?”

            “We kissed once, when we were twelve. An experiment. Neither of us is like that, though.”

            “You like experimentin’, don’t ya?”

            “I like new experiences.”

            Zeke swallows hard. He’s glad he had only two beers; someone has to be the adult here, and he doesn’t trust himself around her with three. “Then why not find some other guy and experience it with him?”

            “Because the guys at school are lame. They either want to date me, or just do a hit-and-run. They can’t just have a laugh with a friend, you know?”

            He nods, knowing he’s getting to the crux of the problem now. “You need a man, not some boy anyway, anyone can see that. No kid your age would know what to do with ya.”

            “Oh my God, Zeke, I’m not a kid, and that’s not the point.”

            “So, what _is_ the point?”

            “Sex ruins things!” Louise struggles a bit and sits up. “It damn near ruined my friendship with Rudy, and now it’s going to kill our trio!”

            “Oh?”

            She takes a big gulp, swallowing the rest of her drink, makes a gagging sound. Louise shakes her head. “They’ve already lied to me—a lie of omission is still a lie—and sneaked around, and now they’re gonna break up and—“

            “Woah, I think yer gittin’ a little ahead of yerself—“

            “Why are they keeping secrets from me?” Her voice sounds small and scared.

            “Come over here, honey.” He holds out his hand, and pulls her gently onto his lap. Zeke runs a comforting hand up and down her arm, secretly admiring the muscles he feels under her smooth skin.

            “First, if they’re truly friends, they’ll work out whatever’s goin’ on between them, just like you and Rudy did. I ain’t sayin’ it’ll be easy on any of y’all, but it can be done.”

            She’s quite drunk now, he realizes, as she rests her hands on his shoulders and nuzzles the top of his head. He’s trying to be a gentleman, but _damn_ it ain’t easy when a girl’s all but shoving her nipples in his mouth. “You smell nice,” she says.

            “And second,” he plows ahead, jerking his lips away from temptation, “You know ya ain’t the easiest person to talk to, Louise.”

            “I’m talking to you, aren’t I? I haven’t told anyone half of this stuff before!” She squirms, trying to stand up, but he holds her down on his lap.

            “Yer also pretty damn drunk.” He grips her waist firmly so she doesn’t fall off him, trying to will down the beginnings of an erection.

            “I _am_ a pretty, damn drunk, aren’t I?”

            “Yer a fuckin’ gorgeous, damn drunk, but that don’t make it easy fer people to tell ya things. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you can be a bit, uh—“

            “Abrasive? Me?” She’s laughing now. “Never!”

            “I ain’t sayin they shouldn’t have said anything, but you can’t constantly go over-the-top then expect people to be eager to tell ya stuff they know will set you off.”

            Apparently the wisdom of his words seeps through the alcohol. She calms down and goes back to nuzzling his hair. “That’s not fair.”

            “What’s not fair?”

            “You being right.”

            “No,” he says, his voice slightly ragged, “you shovin’ them titties of yer’s in my face like that ain’t fair.”

            Too drunk to be embarrassed, she giggles and shimmies her shoulders, giving Zeke his 77th Louise entry in his spank bank.

            “ _Aaaand_ , now it’s time for you to go to bed.” He stands up abruptly, setting her stumbling on her feet. He manages to steady her, and guides her inside. Unceremoniously, he pushes her down on his bed, setting her off in a fit of giggles, pounding her heels on the comforter.

            “No, shoes off, ya filthy girl.”

            Naturally, this prompts Louise to fight his attempts to take off her shoes, but she’s too drunk and too giggly to be effective for long. “I can’t even have a nightcap?”

            “Girl, you drink anymore you’ll start pukin’, and that’s more’n I signed up for.”

            “Fine,” she mutters, her eyes already half-closed. “I don’t want anything anyway.”

            “Good.” He straightens up. He figures he’ll clean up dinner, maybe watch a little TV before he goes to sleep. But first, he definitely needs a few minutes alone. Damn that kid, he's all revved up with no place to go.

            “Zeke?”

            “Yeah, honey?”

            “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

            He points at the sagging sofa a few feet away. “I got me a bed over there.”

            Louise’s eyes are fully open now, but they aren’t quite focused. She laces her fingers together and stretches, groaning, undulating her spine as her fingertips graze the headboard. She runs a finger along his snake tattoo. “You don’t wanna sleep here?”

            Her hair is splayed out on his pillow. The hem of her top has ridden up, exposing a strip of skin just begging for his tongue, and damn it, he knows she’s getting that sexy smell of hers all over his sheets. Maybe she really believes they’d just sleep, he can’t tell what she’s thinking at this point, but Zeke knows better. He closes his eyes, and takes a steadying breath. “You ain’t gonna remember none of this tomorrow morning, are ya?”

            She considers. “Probably not.”

            “Well then,” he moves quickly, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the bed over her head. He leans in close, his nose inches from her’s, making damn sure she sees the lust in his eyes, the fire she’s casually playing with. “If I had my way, I’d crawl in that bed and do things to you that’d make ya walk funny for a week and you’d fuckin’ _love_ it. But yer drunk, and I ain’t about that life.”

            He pushes off of her and stalks back outside.


	10. TEN

            Two days later, Louise is sitting in one of the back booths at When Hairy Met Smoothie’s new brick and mortar shop, drinking a moderately decent banana peanut butter concoction. Rudy and Jessica—poor, naïve, unsuspecting Rudy and Jessica—are still at the counter, waiting for their smoothies. Louise seriously hopes Tina is right, and that this is a good idea.

            She hasn’t seen Zeke since he dropped her off a couple of blocks from her apartment the morning after her impromptu sleepover. She walked the rest of the way feeling like her spine was going to shoot out the top of her skull with each step, trying to remember exactly what happened the night before. She managed to hold onto the main points, clinging to them like a raft in a sea of alcohol.

            _And this is why we don’t drink, Louise._ _When we’re high, we doesn’t blab about our first time doing it, and we don’t have weird images of Zeke holding us down and threatening (promising?) to fuck us silly._ Was that a dream, or did it actually happen? Is it a dream that she wants to happen? At least with weed, she’s just peachy in a few hours. Also, she isn’t left with a raging headache.

            Somehow, Louise made it through the day, even though it was apparently National Stupid Motherfucker Day and nobody gave her advanced warning, and everyone in her line of sight worked her last nerve. Louise somehow managed to not puke, and desperately texted Tina to set up a Skype call for later in the evening.

            Naturally, Tina was running late, which Louise thought was pretty damn rude of her, considering how much she, Louise, needed her. Down in the Louise Lair, she drank what felt like her thirtieth gallon of water for the day and did lunges to relieve her feelings until Tina finally signed on.

            Tina's foundation was cakey around her nose, her left eyebrow was smudged, and she had a daub of hot sauce smeared on her cheek. “I’m sorry, there was a birthday party for these 90 year-old twins. I made over $300 in tips, but--“

            “Uh-huh,” Louise said. “Well, at least they’re good tippers.”

            Tina sighed, and Louise could tell she was desperate for bed. “I don’t mean to be rude, Louise, but I’m beat. What’s the problem?”

            Louise damn near hung up. _Geez, sorry I’m such a burden, Tina!_ But the truth was, Louise needed her advice, she couldn’t really talk to anyone else, not even Gene. “I know. And I…appreciate your help.”

            Louise told Tina about Rudy and Jessica, and how they were trying to play her for a fool by leaving her out of the loop. She was glad she’d rehearsed the story beforehand, because there was a lot to edit out. Anything to do with working for Mr. Fischoeder, obviously, and she shied away from mentioning Zeke. Actually, she hadn’t mentioned him to Tina at all since they talked about him giving her driving lessons. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew she shouldn’t let on to how close the two of them were.

            Tina listened carefully. “It’s kind of like a romance novel,” she said, perking up a little bit.

            _Hey, whatever works._ “Okay. So, what would you have me do next, if you were writing this story?”

            She thought for a moment. “Okay, what’s your motivation?”

            “Revenge, duh.”

            “For…?”

            “For lying to me. Not trusting me. Treating me like I’m stupid or fragile or whatever.”

            “So you feel out of control, and want to take control back, yes?”

            Louise turned it over in her mind. “Yeah, I guess.”

            “So don’t you think the best revenge is to subvert the narrative?”

            “We aren’t all English majors, Tina.”

            Tina sighed. “Do the unexpected.”

            Louise looked at her blankly.

            “They expect you to know nothing, and to go on a rampage if you find out, so…”

            The penny dropped. “So I should let them know that I know everything, and that I’m totally cool with it.”

            “Exactly. Assuming, of course, that you are actually cool with it.” Tina frowned. “You _are_ actually cool with it, right?”

            “Well yeah, it’s the being kept in the dark thing that bothers me. I had a chance with both of them, and I’m not any more interested now than I was then.”

            “Okay, then I’m signing off before I fall asleep mid-sentence.”

            “Thanks, T. Goodnight, loser.”

            So now, Louise is grinning at Jessica and Rudy as they slide into the booth across from her with their own smoothies. Jessica wiggles her eyebrows knowingly. “So, you and Zeke, eh?”

            Louise waits until Jessica takes a slurp of her drink. “Why don’t we start with you and Rudy?”

            Jessica does an actual, honest-to-God spit-take, spattering the table with gobs of strawberry smoothie. Rudy, staring at Louise in mute horror, snaps out of it and pats Jessica on the back.

            “I’m fine. Stop, Rudy, I’m fine!”

            Louise can’t help but to laugh; this is going better than she’d dare hoped. She only wishes she’d thought to record it, so she could send footage of her triumph to Tina.

            “Come on, you guys think I didn’t know?”

            “No,” Rudy says, mopping the table with a wad of napkins. “We didn’t. We, uh, well, we—“

            Jessica coughed and wiped her face. “It sort of came over us gradually, and we weren’t sure how to tell you.”

            “I thought you might be mad,” Rudy added.

            “You thought I’d be mad? This is great!” Louise realizes as she’s saying it that she really means it; it _is_ great. “My two best friends dating! Just don’t leave me out of the loop anymore, okay? Can’t it sometimes be the three of us still?”

            “Oh God, Louise, we didn’t mean to leave you out.” Rudy reaches over and squeezes her hand. “It was just kind of…you know, because…”

            “I know,” Louise says gently, squeezing his hand back. She reaches out and takes Jessica’s hand too. “That was a long time ago, and we’ve grown up and moved on since then. I’m happy for you both.”

            The trio shares a moment. Louise is proud of herself for her maturity, glad to feel in control of herself and her environment again. She turns to Jessica, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. “Does he still do that thing with his tongue?”

            Jessica picks up the joke immediately. “Oh yeah. And he’s added to it!”

            “Oh jeez,” Rudy groans, burying his face in his hands, as the girls laugh at him.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            She arrives back to the restaurant five minutes early for her shift. Zeke, his forehead beaded with sweat, is cleaning the grill. He gestures towards the basement with the scraper, mouthing “ _parents_ ,” his expression a little guarded. “How’s it hangin’, Louise?”

            “I just had smoothies with Rudy and Jessica.”

            His face relaxes, seeing her smile. “They’re doin’ okay then?”

            “Yep, everything’s fine,” she says, washing her hands.

            “Glad to hear it.” He leans over and adds quietly. “Just roll with it, Baby B.”

            _Huh?_

            As usual, she can hear her mother before she can see her. Linda, then Bob, come up from the basement, both of them grinning. “Isn’t this exciting, Bobby? Catering for Mr. Fischoeder! Oh, hi honey.”

            “Hi, Mom. We’re catering for Mr. Fischoeder?”

            Her parents exchange a look. “Well, yes, Angel Dust,” Bob says, which sets Louise on alert; her father never calls her that unless something is wrong. “Your mother and I—he was very specific about no kids—are catering a, um, party for Mr. Fischoeder. Next Saturday.”

            “Why the hell aren’t you dragging me and Gene? Are we supposed to run the shop all by ourselves on a Saturday? And what about getting my license? You _promised_ to take me, Dad!”

            Linda jumps in. “It’s a party for his…dress-up friends, sweetie, and nobody under 18 is allowed.”

            “They’re called _fetishists_ , Mom.”

            “Yes, Louise, they’re called fetishists.” Bob says. “How do you—never mind. We’ll close up after two, to give your mother and me time to get to Mr. Fischoeder’s. And stay the night. You and Gene will have the house to yourselves. But no parties.”

            “Or boys. Or girls. Either of you,” Linda adds.

            Louise can see Zeke, standing behind her parents, trying to communicate with his eyes. She gets it, of course; this is as much an opening for a job for her as it is for her parents. Since she can’t mention obvious things, like why aren’t they taking Gene, who is 18, since when do her parents not take her to any and all weird and questionable places, and why do the caterers have to stay on the premises, she latches onto what she can.

            “You promised to take me for my test! This isn’t fair!”

            “He’s offering us a lot of money, Louise, and you and Gene can have the whole evening to yourselves. And I’ll take you some time this week.”

            “Some time this week! Well that’s just great! I’ll be locked up with the Human Whoopie Cushon while you guys are watching guys dressed like chickens hump human tables!”

            Louise milks it for all it’s worth, yelling and making all sorts of threats. She’s worked so hard to get her license, and her parents have delayed her test twice now! She eventually allows her father to calm her down, with his positive assurance that he’ll take her for her test on Tuesday. He steps into the bathroom early for his 4:30 meeting, and her mother goes to the front of the house, ostensibly to talk to Mort and Teddy, who arrived in the middle of her tantrum, but in reality, Louise is sure, to give her time to cool off.

            “Yer good, girl,” Zeke whispers.

            “What’s really going on?”

            “I’ll tell you later.”


	11. ELEVEN

Zeke is standing in the driveway, shirt off and sweating in the morning sun, cleaning the interior of his truck for the second time in a week. It’s useless, he knows it; no matter how many times he details the cab, regardless of the number of air fresheners he hangs up, he knows he’s never going to get Louise’s scent out of his truck.

            He’s always had a keen sense of smell—probably related to his perfect palette—and loves sweets of any kind. So when Baby B comes around, twitching her pert little tail in those itty-bitty shorts and tight t-shirts, smelling like some tasty dessert, well…

            _It ain’t her fault_ , he reminds himself, hanging up a pinecone-shaped air freshener. It’s not like she’s drowning herself in perfume, and he knows she’s not trying to tease him. Still, he finds faint, seductive whiffs of her everywhere, her sugary vanilla smell in his truck and on his sheets, the honey-milk scent of her shampoo in his pillow. Were she anyone else he would just go ahead and see if he could tap that and get her out of his system. But of course, that’s not an option with Louise. He tries to distract himself with…well, anything really. It’s been great for his guns, he’s done more push-ups in the past three weeks than he did in the previous three months. His grandmother would wear him out if she knew the thoughts he had to repress about that kid.

“I’m tryin', Grandma,” he mutters. 

            Zeke wipes his brow. Alone at night, his mind and hands roam freely, and she’s all his, to touch, to taste, to fuck just as he pleases, because nobody can tell a man what he can fantasize about doing with a teenager who’s too damn sexy for her own good. In daylight, he’s ashamed of the way he thinks of that kid—and she _is_ a kid, even though he tends to forget that, given how long she’s been on the periphery of his friend group, and the fact that she was more on the ball at nine years old than most of the adults around them. He resolves to just go to a bar again and find some gal his own age to try to fix what ails him. But he’s done that twice now, and while the sex was fine, for one-nighters, the cure was temporary at best. Eventually, Louise cackles her evil laugh, or raises an impish brow and says some smart-ass thing, and he’s reminded all over again why he wants her. He wants to whisper sweet nothings in one ear, and growl filthy things in the other. He wants to make slow, sensuous, toe-curling love to her, and push her face into the mattress and pound her senseless. He can’t explain it, he can’t make it go away, and God help him, he ain’t sure what the hell he’s going to do about it.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            “Mom, are you sure this is a good idea?”

            “Ice cream cake is always a good idea.”

            Ordinarily, Gene would agree, but watching his mother close the freezer door he isn’t sure this time. It’s Tuesday morning and Linda and Gene are ostensibly preparing to open the restaurant, but in reality, they’re keeping an eye on their phones, waiting for Bob to let them know if Louise passed or failed her driving test.

            Linda shows him a shopping bag, which contains pre-tubed frosting. “If she passes, I can write ‘Congratulations, Louise’ on it, and if she doesn’t, well, ice cream cake fixes everything.”

            “It made me feel better the first two times I failed.”

            “See, Mommy thought of everything.”

            Gene walks around the kitchen turning on appliances, fills the sanitizer buckets, and uncovers the prep table. “I _really_ hope she gets it on the first try.”

            Linda exchanges a worried look with her son. “Me too.”

            Mort and Teddy come in at exactly 11:30, as per usual, and Gene makes their food while they and Linda discuss Louise and their own experiences getting their licenses.

            “I was fine with my standard license test,” Mort says, dipping his spoon in the bowl. Teddy is mowing through his burger and fries, but Mort, who is slightly more health-conscious, ordered the veggie soup and a salad for lunch. “Getting my commercial license was far more difficult. I still plan funeral routes with as few left turns as possible.”

            “No corpse _left_ behind, eh Mort?” Linda cracks.

            “Oh, hey, Zeke,” Teddy says around a mouthful of fries.

            Zeke strolls in, hooking his sunglasses on the neck of his sleeveless t-shirt. “What’s the word, Mrs. B?”

            “Oh Zeke honey, you aren’t on the schedule today.”

            Zeke fist-bumps Mort and sits at the counter. “I know, ma’m. I thought I’d just be on hand to help Louise celebrate, or help you scrape ‘er down from the ceilin’, whichever.”

            “Aw, aren’t you sweet,” she says, pouring him a water. “You hungry? Gene, make Zeke a burger on the house. You want a cheeseburger?”

            He turns slightly pink. “That sounds great, Mrs. B. Don’t knock yerself out, Gene. Want me to help?”

            “Nah, I got it,” Gene says. He’s already slapped a patty on the grill, and begins toasting the bun. The fans are on, but his face and back are already sweaty. He watches the others enviously through the window. Part of him is irritated because he’s just not a back-of-house sort of guy. There’s also…well, Zeke. Gene wouldn’t trade his sisters for anything, but this summer has given him a taste of what it might have been like if he wasn’t the only boy in the family, and he likes it. Zeke’s high-fives are even more powerful than Logan’s were, and Gene appreciates the fact that the much stronger man doesn’t tone it down for him. That makes his concerns about Zeke and Louise even more complicated. He has nothing to go on, really, just the growing crackle of electricity between the two that makes him uncomfortable.

            Linda’s phone rings. “Oh my God, oh my God, this is it!” She fumbles, struggling to pull the antique flip phone from her pocket, almost drops it, finally hits the right button. “HELLO!”

            All eyes in the restaurant are on her. “Hi Bobby. No, I can hear you.”

            One eye on his mother, Gene dresses the bun, waiting for the cheese to melt and the fries to finish. Her expression gives away nothing.

            “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. I see. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

            Gene mimes pulling a rope, silently attempting to drag the information out of her.

            “Uh-huh. Well, thanks for the heads-up, Bobby. We’ll be ready for her.”

            She sighs and closes the phone, looking down at the counter.

            “She didn’t get it, huh? That’s too bad, Lin,” says Teddy.

            Linda looks up, her eyes shining. “Genie-Beanie, break out the frosting ‘cause Mommy needs to make it a congratulatory cake!”

            Everyone cheers and each assures the others that he just _knew_ Louise would do it, no doubt about it. Linda goes to the back to write on the cake, so Gene takes the burger and fries out to Zeke, who meets him with a hearty high-five.

            Twenty minutes later, Louise enters, waving her new license over her head, followed by a red-eyed Bob who’s blowing his raw nose. “Guess who got her license, bitches!”

            “Louise!” Linda scolds, but she’s grinning.

            Teddy looks at Bob and frowns. “Why are you crying?”

            Bob blows his nose. “It’s allergies,” he says in a watery voice.

            Linda, hovering over the cake, waves the knife dismissively. “Oh, he’s like that with all the kids. First with bikes, then cars.”           

Gene glances up from his phone. He’s texting Courtney and Lenny, letting them know that Hurricane Louise isn’t going to make landfall after all. He smiles at the scene, his mother cutting cake, Teddy and Mort claiming their pieces, his father valiantly insisting that he wasn’t crying. Zeke picks up Louise and spins her around.

            “Damn it, Zeke! Put me down! This is embarrassing!” Louise giggles—actually _giggles_ —the entire time. She slides down the length of his body as he sets her on the ground, and Gene is glad that the adults are distracted, because he doesn’t know what their parents would do if they saw the look Zeke and Louise exchange.

            Gene’s phone vibrates twice. Lenny offers his congratulations to Louise, Courtney—who never really warmed to his little sister—just says “k”, and tells him about a Motley Crue cover band playing at the Warf on Saturday. Of course he wants to go, but he’ll text her back later; there’s cake, and Gene has his priorities.

            “So, you’re going to run some errands for the family now, right?” asks Mort.

            Louise waves away the question. “Today, I’m going to surprise Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb by picking them up from their PSAT class. Right, Dad?”

            The idea of his daughter hopping into the family car and driving anywhere by herself threatens to set Bob off again.

            “Sure, honey,” Linda says, knowing her husband is too choked up for words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was an absolute beast to write, but I’m fairly satisfied with the results. Given how important getting her license is to Louise, I knew I needed to spend some time on it, but it took me a while to find the right point of view. I also wanted to explore Zeke’s motives view a bit.


	12. TWELVE

Saturday, Louise works the lunch rush, helps her parents pack up the catering things, then works with Gene and Zeke to shut down the restaurant, much to Teddy’s consternation. A creature of habit, he arrives at exactly 2:30 as per usual and presses his nose sadly against the glass until Louise, armed with a broom, threatens to knock the stupid off his face. (It's not hard for Gene to guilt her into an apologetic promise for a free burger on Sunday.) Part one of the plan completed, the trio lock up, then go upstairs to the Belcher’s apartment.

            Louise retreats to her bedroom to take a nap, leaving the guys to drink beer in the living room.

            “Thanks fer lettin’ me crash here ‘til it’s time to pick up m’ girl. This makes my life easier.” Zeke says, taking a swig. “What’s yer plans fer tonight?”

            “Courtney and I are going to see a Motley Crue cover band down at the Warf.”

            Zeke frowns. “You ain’t still with Lenny?”

            “It’s…complicated.”

            Zeke grunts, uncertain if he wants to ask. He doesn’t care if Gene likes girls, guys, or both, but Gene’s love life seems unnecessarily messy to him.

            Gene stares hard at his own beer. “It’s almost as complicated as you and Louise.”

            Zeke barks a startled, fake laugh. “Me and Louise?”

            Gene meets Zeke’s eyes and shakes his head, having none of it. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. I don’t know what’s going on there, and I’m not saying anything to our parents. Just don’t fuck her up, okay?”

            Zeke could kick himself for underestimating Gene. Knowing the gig is up, he simply says, “I won’t.”

            “Good,” Gene sighs. “I thought I ought to say something, being her large brother and all.”

 

            #                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            Later that evening, after throwing Louise several knowing looks, Gene takes off for his date, leaving Louise and Zeke alone in the apartment. They take turns in the shower, and Zeke uses Gene’s room to change, first tossing a gym bag full of country western gear outside Louise’s door.

            The plan, as Zeke explained to her earlier in the week, is for the two of them to go to the new country bar outside of town and sell weed to the patrons.

            “Country? Gross!” was Louise’s immediate response.

            “Know any country?”

            “I don’t need to know it to hate it!”

            “Well, yer gonna have to change that attitude,” Zeke said cheerfully. “It ain’t my favorite neither, but it ain’t all awful. And I like couple’s dancing.”

            He isn’t surprised that he’s ready well before she is; ladies are like that. Dressed in a slightly tight plaid shirt he borrowed from Leslie, jeans, and cowboy boots, he makes himself comfortable on the Belcher’s old couch. Zeke laughs his way through two episodes of COPS, relived that neither episode stars any members of his family this time, while waiting for her to pull herself together. Halfway through the first episode Louise streaks by from the bathroom to her room, gripping a towel to her chest and shouting at him not to look. Finally, he knocks on her door.

            “Louise honey, you almost ready?”

            “Give me five minutes.”

            “Alright, but we really gotta go soon, girl.” Zeke, certain that her five minutes is closer to a man’s twenty, sits back down and begins flipping channels. Mentally, he maps out their route, trying to figure out where he can shave off a little time.

            To his astonishment, her door opens within the promised five minutes. He feels his jaw literally drop as he takes her in.

            Louise strikes a model’s pose, hip jutting, hand behind her head. “Will I do?”

            Zeke swallows, trying to collect himself. Thankfully, Leslie’s girlfriend is a bit of an idiot, and thinks slowly dropping off her wardrobe a piece at a time will eventually turn into fully moving in with him. Zeke stares at the straining strings of the white crochet crop top. He wonders what it would be like to loosen the knot and feel her breasts bounce free into his hands. He notes the details; black boots and brown fringe purse, bunny pedant, hair cascading down her back like a wild woman’s. Heavier makeup than usual, to age her up, complete with full, glossy lips and smoky eyes. She threaded the eagle-buckled belt through the loops of—it couldn’t be his imagination—those damn denim cutoffs of hers. And naturally, she’s wearing that sugary vanilla scent that drives him wild. He’s not sure if she looks more just-fucked than ready to be fucked, but either way, _fuck,_ he’s in for a rough evening.

            “Spin fer me, girl.”

            She does. Goddamn, did those shorts shrink? They’re more like a belt, just barely decent to be seen in public. Not that Zeke’s complaining.

            “You’ll do,” he says shortly, his voice a bit horse.

            Louise smiles slyly at him and turns off the TV.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            Zeke reviews the plan with her on their way out, glad to have driving and the job to focus on. “So, we ain’t got much to sell, but it should be enough to keep us going through the night.”

            “What is it?”

            “Mostly edibles fer you, and a few joints. Ladies love shit like that.”

            “That’s sexist.”

            Zeke shrugs. “I’m just tellin’ ya what sells, girl.”

            Louise _humphs_ , but he can tell she isn’t really mad, mostly because she starts asking about prices, hints about tells to pick out marks, and other business-related concerns. Zeke’s never worked with a partner before, and he’s glad to have one that can focus on the issue at hand.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            Zeke swings into the gravel parking lot of Diamonds and Dust. Louise rolls her eyes. The building was designed to look like a renovated barn, with multi-colored lights strung on the front porch. Twangy music, paired with twangier lyrics she can’t quite make out, blares out from the bar. They join the throngs of people making their way to the front door. Many, clearly more familiar with the genre than she is, sing along, a few adding a “Yee-haw!” for good measure.

            Louise stops mid-stride to take it all in. “This is terrible,” she breathes, grinning.

            “Don’t be a priss,” Zeke says, taking her hand and pulling her forward.

            “They’re gonna pick me out as a dealer in five seconds flat.”

            “Not if ya get in character, darlin’.” He snakes an arm behind her and tucks his hand in her back pocket, cupping her butt cheek.

            A thrill shoots through her. His hand gently massages her as she walks. “Is feeling me up part of staying in character?”

            “Well, I’m lucky enough to be on a date with Beatrice Black, the sexiest girl I know. Ain’t no way I’m gonna keep my hands to myself--‘less she tells me to.” he adds. 

            Louise chose it herself for her Fischoeder ID. It's the same name she used on the old fake ID she made for herself in grade school; it's just the right alias for her, she doesn't know why. He's watching her out of the corner of his eye, that damn shit-eating grin of his challenging her. Louise can no more back down from a challenge than she can back out of a bet. She doesn’t order him to keep his hands to himself, or elbow him in the ribs. Instead, she wraps an arm around him and slips her hand in his pocket. Louise, her face turning pink, suddenly realizes that Zeke actually has a nice butt, though she shouldn't be surprised--Tina would never loose her v-card to a guy with a bad butt.

            To Louise’s intense relief, her ID passes the bouncer’s check. She manages to keep a grin on her face as he very obviously mentally undresses her, calls her sweetie, and waves them in. Zeke buys a longneck for himself and bottled water for her, while Louise leans up against a post where she can scope out the room.

            He joins her and places his hand on the small of her back. He strokes her warm skin, smiling with satisfaction as she shivers. Zeke leans over, his breath hot against her ear. “What do you see?”

            She blinks hard, trying to clear her mind. “Lots of couples. Singles looking to get lucky.” She looks around. “A few groups of women. Sororities? Wait, there’s bachelorette party near the mechanical bull—she’s wearing a mini-veil, how stupid—and that group…look at the way the other women are surrounding her. I bet someone just got dumped or something.”

            “Good eye,” he murmurs, the tip of his nose brushing against her earlobe.

            Louise’s eyes flutter shut. She hasn’t had sex since Rudy, but she’s kissed other guys, chaste pecks, some pretty heavy groping. It was nice—great even, a couple of times—but nothing close to what Zeke is doing to her with far less effort. It’s like her body, long dead, is jolting back to life, blazing straight past want into need. Zeke isn’t some guy just fumbling along, trying to see what works. He knows what he’s doing, and how to do it. Though her memory of her drunken sleepover at Zeke’s is still vague, she does remember him telling her that she needs a man, not a boy. Feeling his big hand on her back, she can’t agree more, except—

            He’s a friend. Rudy almost became an ex-friend.

            Louise staggers away from him. “I have work to do,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not into bars of any kind, especially country western ones, so I’ve consulted others for this one. I’m sure C&W fans will forgive any errors on my part. I really like the idea of taking Louise totally out of her element.


	13. THIRTEEN

            Louise circles the floor slowly with an outward appearance of casual unconcern, but she’s doing recon on her marks. The wedding party is a possibility, but Louise, after dancing close enough to eavesdrop, has more faith in the sorority girls; all the giggling about the night being an “adventure” can only mean drugs, sex, or a bit of each.   She figures she’ll give them another thirty minutes—maybe an hour—to get buzzed before she approaches them. Louise follows the friends cheering up Sad-Sack into the bathroom. She would have been disappointed if the rooms weren’t labeled “Cowboys” and “Cowgirls,” the letters spelled out in rope on the doors.

            They’re a group of six women, all in their late twenties, primped and preened in a very obvious, look-at-me sort of way for a night out. Louise, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, can’t help but to feel smug and secure in her own youth. She’d imitated Tina’s old, heavier makeup style, in the hopes that it would visually age her a bit. She’s not sure she looks 23, like it says on her ID, but she doesn’t look like she’s barely 16, either.

            Sad-Sack is sniffling in one of the stalls, being comforted by a friend. Three of the women consult each other in a hushed gaggle, while the sixth, probably the youngest of the group, washes her hands, frowning at the faucet. _Mark!_

            Silently praying the blonde isn’t a cop, Louise stops at the sink next to her and begins touching up her lipstick. “Rough night?” she asks, glancing over at Sad Sack and company.

            The blonde sighs. “Yeah. Debbie’s divorce went through this afternoon. You see how well she’s taking it.”

            “Oh, that’s awful. It’s great you guys took her out to relax.”

            “Personally, I think we should have stayed in. The drinks here are practically water.”

            Louise nods wisely. “Maybe something else would work better.”

            “Like what?”

            “Well, I like…candy, when I’m feeling down. Makes me all giggly again, you know?”

            “Candy?”

             Louise gives her a significant look. The blonde considers a moment, then her eyes alight with understanding.

            “Gosh, I haven’t done that since college,” Blondie says. She squints slightly at Louise. “What year are you?”

            “Junior,” Louise says, mostly truthfully.

            Blondie nods, satisfied. The rest of the interaction is quick and painless, completed just as another wave of women enter the room. Louise leaves the bathroom two bags of cannabis peach rings lighter, a tidy wad of cash for Mr. Fischoeder, and an extra $25 bucks in her wallet for her trouble. (Zeke recommended only jacking up the price an extra ten dollars, but Louise figured she could get a little more, given the situation.)

            Feeling confident now, Louise leaves the bathroom and scans the crowd. _Next stop; the sorority girls._

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

           

            Almost an hour later, the hall is a sea of cowboy hats and fringe. Zeke, having already moved his product—frat boys are almost too easy, really—glides through the crowd, inwardly just short of panicking. He’s totally lost sight of little Baby B, she’s been gone too long, and he feels like a bulldog who has failed to guard a precious kitten. Mr. Fischoeder had his doubts about Louise being up to this task already, but Zeke vouched for her. It wasn’t just Louise’s future with the Fischoeder family on the line, his standing could take a hit, too. _What the hell was I thinkin’, she’s a kid wearin’ a pound of makeup and an ounce of clothes!_ Anything could happen to her.

           The song overhead, a classic that Zeke can’t quite name but is sure he listened to with his grandma, fades into something laced with violins, slow enough for the couple’s dance he’d hoped to share with Louise. He doesn’t recognize the lyrics.

 

“ _I been thinkin' 'bout our love situation  
All this attraction in the present tense_ ”

 

            The DJ’s voice blares over the singer’s. “Everyone join us over at the bullpen and give it up for our first gal. Ride that bull, Beatrice!”

            A cheer erupts over by the bullring.

            _Oh shit!_

           Zeke pushes his way through the crowd, kicking himself for not seeing this one coming. Granted, they don’t usually thrash the thing about wildly for ladies; it’s just a chance for them to be sexy and show off, and Louise is strong. Still, anything could happen. _Fuck, she’s gonna break her fool neck!_ How’s he going to explain it to Mr. Fischoeder? Hell, how’s he going to explain it to _Mr. Belcher_? He shoulders his way to the front of the bullring, and of course, there she is, gripping the damn thing with those magnificent summer bronzed thighs of hers, barely even needing to touch the pommel for balance, as her body rocks and undulates with the bull.

 

“ _This ain't no thinkin' thing, right brain, left brain_  
_It goes a little deeper than that_  
_It's a chemical, physical, emotional devotion_  
_Passion that we can't hold back_ ”

 

            He grips the fence, his mouth slightly agape. She’s a breathtaking sight and he drinks it in, savoring it like top-shelf brandy, watching her whip her hair as the bull twists and dips. The crowd urges her on, some with cheers and wolf-whistles, a few with crude suggestions of other things she can ride when she’s done, but for Zeke, it’s almost a religious experience. For the first time in his life, he understands the difference between sexual and sensual. He’s seen lots of girls grind away on these things, an open invitation to any man (and a few women) in sight. Louise is different. He squints slightly, considering, then it occurs to him; she isn’t performing in any way, flirting with the crowd. She’s riding the bull by herself, for herself, and the rest of them have the privilege of bearing witness. It’s beautiful. _She’s_ beautiful.

_She’s a fuckin’ goddess._

            The bull bucks again. Louise rolls her spine with it, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and their eyes lock.  A lightening bolt of unspoken communication flashes between them sparking a fire in his soul, and he’s utterly, completely consumed.

            The bull winds down to a stop as the song comes to an end. Louise slides off to cheers. Rather than blowing kisses or bowing, as he’s seen other girls do, Louise smiles graciously and offers a queenly little wave, accepting the crowd’s adulation as her due. She meets a throng of squealing young women all dressed in identical white denim booty shorts and colorful tops, the sorority girls she pointed out earlier. He closes in on them, and he can hear them giggling. Several of them are drunk, high, or both, but Louise is completely sober.

            She slides her hand into his, electrifying the hair on his arm. “I gotta take this one home and tuck him in. Have a great night, ladies!”

            Zeke and Louise leave the building, their boots crunching in step on the gravel. They say nothing. There’s nothing to say; they understand each other perfectly. He pushes her up against the passenger door, his hands shaking slightly as they grip her hair. He grinds his hips against hers, catches her moan with his lips, and the roaring in his ears rises as she entwines her tongue with his.

            Catcalls. “Get a room!”

            He pulls back. Louise is trembling, her eyes blazing with raw need.  

            “Yours or mine?” she breathes through kiss-swollen lips.

            “Mine’s closer.”

             They don’t make it to his place for round one. Pulled off the road, hidden by trees, he first tastes her, first rocks her, first glories in the sound of her crying out in ecstasy, witnessed only by the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is “This Ain’t No Thinkin’ Thing” by Trace Atkins


	14. FOURTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead.

            It’s not quite five in the morning when Zeke pulls up to the curb two blocks from Louise’s apartment. Weak sunlight stains the sky pink, and the air already promises to make it a humid mess of a day. Nobody is out on the street, not even joggers or dog walkers, but Zeke still pushes her away when she tries to lean in for a good-by kiss.

            “You know the rules, darlin’,” he says, his tired smile rueful.

            Louise’s eyes are gritty with crumbling mascara and lack of sleep, and she’s pretty sure she has dried semen clumped in her hair. “I know.”

           After round two, this time in his bed, Zeke set his alarm just in case, and, cuddling her close to his side, he initiated the conversation both of them knew they needed to have. “You know we gotta keep this real quiet.”

           Louise lifted her head from his chest. “Neither of us is very quiet.”

          He chuckled, brushing her tangled hair out of her face. “I always figured ya for a screamer, but that ain’t what I mean and you know it.”

          “I know. You could get in real trouble.”

          “Honey, trouble is what _you’d_ get. _I_ could go to jail and be a registered sex offender for the rest of my life, and _that’s_ if yer daddy don’t kill me first.” He frowned slightly.  No doubt he could take the old guy in a fair fight, but he's seen Bob with knives.

           “Wouldn’t Mr. Fischoeder—-“

           “Mr. Fischoeder ain’t God, and he don’t like it when ya can’t keep a low profile.  Better learn that now, babygirl.”

             “Oh.”

            "That is, if ya wanna do this again.  If you don't, that's cool, but I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd keep--"

          “I could do this again," she cut him off, her mouth curved in a gentle smile rarely seen on her face. Now that she finally understood what was so magical about sex, she naturally wanted to do it as often as she could with the man who enlightened her.  The fact that he wanted her too, and didn't take it--her--for granted, sealed the deal. She lightly ran her hand over his chest. She never knew before how sexy chest hair could be.

          “No flirtin’, no touchin’, no nuthin’ that would make anyone think twice. We’re just friends, remember.”

          Her hand dipped further, skimming his abs. Zeke isn't sculpted, but he’s a solid brick of muscle. She likes it. “With benefits.”

          “With— _goddamn_ ,” he groaned as her fingers brushed against his penis. Louise gripped him gently and began to slowly work him back to a full erection. It didn’t take long.

           She shifted onto her knees and leaned over him. Louise kissed the tip and his penis jumped, bouncing against her lips. He groaned again, deeper, more animalistic, and she could sense his hands hovering over her as he fought his instinct to push her head down. She began licking him, tentative little teasing flicks, long, languid strokes with her tongue.

 _“Fuck!”_ When she said she had only had sex with Rudy, she must have just meant penetration; there was no way in hell she learned how to use her mouth and hands like that during a one-nighter two years ago with that weedy asthmatic runt.  The idea of Louise practicing on boys, doling out awkward blowjobs to lesser males, perfecting her skills to use on him, was volcanically hot.

          “How long are you in town?”

          “I g-go back north August 20th.”

          She kissed the shaft, humming against him. “That’s barely more than a month.”

         “Plenty of time fer you to stop talking and put that pretty little mouth of yers to good use,” he grunted, shoving his hands deep into her hair.

         She met his eyes, her brows raised. He gave her hair a sharp little tug.  She hissed with pain, followed by the tiniest, softest moan.

          “Don’t act shocked, you love it and you know _\--_ ”

         Louise took the tip into her mouth, delighting as his words melted into a growl as she swirled her tongue, his powerful body vibrating at her mercy. His hands pushed her head down farther, a satisfactory end to the conversation for both parties.

         Sitting in the cab of his truck, she squeezes his hand. “See you Tuesday then?”

         “Yeah.” He rubs the top of her hand with his thumb.  “Don’t worry girl, I’ll think of a way fer us to spend more time together.”

         Louise has no idea why anyone would call this the walk of shame. No, she strides with _pride_ , loose-hipped, sticky, pleasantly sore and bruised in all the right places, her inner thighs prickly with beard burn. She revels in the satisfaction of having been thoroughly, properly, exhaustively laid, and doesn’t care who knows it.

          Well, except her parents. She’s cautious as she comes in sight of the building, but, not seeing the family’s old beater parked out front, she figures it’s safe to use the front door, rather than creep up the fire escape and jimmy the lock to her window.

         Gene calls wanly from the upstairs kitchen, “Mom? Dad?”

         “It’s me,” she says, and enters the kitchen to see a greyfaced Gene hovering over a glass of water.

         “Shit, Gene, you look like hell.”

         He blinks at her with bloodshot eyes as she begins to make coffee. “You look like a truck stop whore.” He sniffs. “Smell like one, too.”

        She slams down the pot with more force than necessary, smirking as he flinches and groans. “When are they due back?”

        Gene moves slowly. “Ten. If I die before they make it, tell Mom I love her.”

        “Nobody dies of a hangover.”

        “Point one, I’m still drunk, I have a hangover to look forward to, and point two…shut up.”

        “You hit the showers first, okay?” Her laughter dies as she notices him staring at her, his brows slightly knit with worry. “What?”

        He rubs his face. “God, I don’t want this conversation right now but…what the hell are you doing?”

        “Making coffee, duh.”

        “That’s not what I meant, duh.”

        Louise sits down next to him. She doesn’t want to have this conversation either, ever, but knows she has to tell Gene something.   “We’re friends with benefits. He goes back to school in August, and that will be that.”

        “Really?”

       “Yes, really.” Louise doesn’t add that Zeke mentioned possibly picking back up when he comes home over Christmas break. Naturally, she’d agreed; of course, considering what he was doing at the time with those big fingers and thumb of his, she would have agreed to anything.

       “God, this is weird.”

       “I thought you liked Zeke.”

       “I do! I’m just not sure about how I feel about him fucking his way through the women in my family.”

       Louise’s eyes begin to snap. “Jealous much?”

       “Stupid comments, much?”

       She wants to press the point, but can’t. Everyone in the family has given Gene crap about his very specific preferences, Louise most of all; he likes thick girls, and skinny guys—“emaciated” is Tina’s word—no exceptions. There is no way he would want Zeke.

       “Look, it’s just…uncomfortable and weird, and I don’t know what I can do, or should do. I’m your large brother, after all.”

       “Will you support me?”

       Gene does a doubletake. “Of course, when have I not? I just don’t like it. And you’ll owe me.”

       She sighs. “What’ll it cost me?”

      Gene looks at her with watery puppy eyes. “For starters, _please_ take my shift on the grill today.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

        Their plan works out well, for the most part. By the time their parents make it home Gene, having vomited his bodyweight in alcohol-laced sick, is taking a power-blackout, in preparation for working what would have been Louise’s three-to-close shift. (Even Gene agreed that it would look suspicious if she worked the entire day on his behalf.)   For her part, having taken a quick nap, it’s a clean and heavily caffeinated Louise who’s already started pre-opening the restaurant that greets her parents when they pull up to the curb.

       Bob holds up a hand. “No. I’m not talking about it. Ever.”

       “Come on, Dad, I didn’t even have a chance to—“

       Bob strides past Louise and goes up to the apartment, leaving his wife and daughter to unpack.

       “Jeez, who peed in his Cheerios?”

       Linda shudders. “Oh honey, it was an…experience.”

       Louise almost drops the box of utensils she’s carrying into the restaurant for washing. “Did you and Dad—“

       “Oh God no.” Linda is pink-cheeked, and Louise knows her mother isn’t telling the entire truth. “But with a party like that, you can’t help…seeing…hearing…”

       “Did you tell Marshmallow I said hi?”

       Her mother glares at her. “Not another word, Miss Missy.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Zeke gives himself a final once-over in the rear-view mirror. Other than the circles under his eyes, he looks like his normal, cheerful self. Since he’s reporting to Mr. Fischoeder directly, rather than his Captain, as he normally would, Zeke dressed up a bit. He doesn’t have a suit, but reckons he looks pretty sharp with cleaned-up work boots and a dress shirt tucked into his black jeans. The dress shirt, with an undershirt of course, is particularly important, to disguise any hint of the long scratch marks Louise left on his back and shoulders.

            He smiles, desire twisting inside of him. _She’s a real wildcat, that one._ If he had his way, they’d spend the entire day in bed, dozing in each other’s arms to power up for more sex, smoke a bowl and eat crappy delivery pizza while watching even crappier action movies. Failing that, all he wants to do is go back to bed and nap, inhaling the sweet scent she left all over his bed, the musky smell of their sex still hovering in the basement. But Louise had to go home to her parents, and he has an appointment with Mr. Fischoeder.

            Stout little Felix Fischoeder, looking like a discount Joker in his purple suit, answers the door and leads Zeke to the third floor office, where Mr. Fischoeder meets his soldiers. Zeke is convinced the man watched _The Godfather_ too many times, but if holding court in his grand office, holding out a pinky ring to be kissed, makes the older man happy, then Zeke will play along.

            “Sit down, young man,” Mr. Fischoeder says, waving Zeke to one of the heavy chairs across from his desk. Zeke obeys.

            Mr. Fischoeder leans forward, steepling his fingers. “So, how did our little girl do?”

            “Just fine, Mr. Fischoeder,” Zeke grins, thinking of how very, _very_ well that little girl did at all points of the evening.

            The older man shoots him a knowing look, making Zeke blush. _Damn, you’d think I ain’t had my pipes cleaned out for a year_. Zeke didn’t have trouble getting women. He was young, fit, tolerably good looking, gifted with plenty of Southern charm—the bigger problem was making them go away when he was done. Maybe it’s because she’s forbidden fruit, or because he’s so tired, but he just can’t keep his mind from circling back to the night before.

            “She sold everything ‘cept one bag of gummies and the joints,” Zeke says, taking the unsold product and money from both of their sales from the bag in his hand and places everything on the desk.

            Mr. Fishoeder hums as he counts the cash. “I would be astonished and disbelieving if you told me she sold everything,” he says.  “Tell me about the evening.”

            Zeke licks his lips. He praises her excellent scouting abilities, her ability to spot a mark and make them comfortable enough to buy from a total stranger at a club. Though he hates to do it, he can’t leave out the part about her riding the mechanical bull. Ain’t no way he’s lying to Mr. Fischoeder, especially when he’s pretty sure he spotted two other Associates there.

            “Hum, not very good at blending in, is she? From what I hear, Baby Belcher’s bull ride was quite…memorable.” A frown creases Mr. Fischoeder’s brow.

            “Yeah,” Zeke is forced to agree, pushing away the memory of her second ride of the night, this time on top of him, breasts bouncing, chanting his name like a prayer as she came.

            “However, our girl is very young, and part of her appeal is her impulsiveness. Her instincts are excellent, and perhaps we can put her theatrical bent to good use. Overall, yes, I’m impressed. With both of you,” he adds, smiling at Zeke. “But do take note,” he says, a chill in his voice making Zeke sit up a little straighter. “I don’t want Baby Belcher to get into trouble. You understand me.”

            Zeke doesn’t, but he nods anyway. “I do, sir.”

            “You two kids enjoy each other as much as you like, but don’t make a mess. I have plans for our girl, and they do not involve an infant.”

            “I won’t, sir.” Zeke is a firm believer in wrapping his meat, and Louise assured him she’s been on the pill for over a year.

            “Well then, let us discuss the next phase,” Mr. Fischoeder smiles. “I think it will suit her talents very nicely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of went back and forth about the smut, but decided to leave it in because the Zeke and Louise I envision are very physical, sexual people who share a strong chemistry. I don't think it's totally self-indulgent.


	15. FIFTEEN

Louise, brimming with confidence, smiles at her parents, who sit huddled at the kitchen table in front of the family’s ancient laptop. Louise swears if everything goes well she’s buying her own, because that Fred Flinstone thing, with its sticky “h” and loud fan, can’t last much longer. Ignoring her parent’s antiquated accounts, Louise spent a week going to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and several other social networking sites—even YouTube—and, having linked them all together, created a solid online presence for Bob’s Burgers. Finally, it’s time to present her parents with her hard work.

            Bob and Linda watch, enthralled, as Louise opens windows and shows her parents the unique benefits and features of each site. She pulls out her phone too, and demonstrates how easy the apps are to use. “Coupons, burgers of the day…just name it! I can upload before school each day.”

            “Oh Bobby, look at our tech genius!” Linda coos.

            Louise watches her father carefully. It’s not that she’s indifferent to her mother’s approval, but frankly, it was always a given; Linda is an easy sell for anything creative. It’s her father, frowning slightly at her, who’s going to need work.

            “How are you going to upload a picture of the Burger of the Day before school when we don’t even open until eleven?”

            “Easy! You usually prep all the ingredients the night before, so I’ll cook up a model and snap the pic then, and post it in the morning.” She and Rudy thought this through while he helped her make templates for coupons and iron out other details. Louise considers herself a competent end user and has a firm understanding of 21st century communication, but it’s Rudy who’s really the tech genius.

            “Well, I love it!” Linda exclaims.

            “And what will this cost us?” Bob smiles, knowing his daughter too well to believe that there isn’t a catch somewhere.

            “Cost you?” Louise grins back at her father, enjoying the game as much as he does. “Nothing at all, father dear. Of course, you would want to comp me for my work in some way such as, oh, I don’t know—not charging me gas or maintenance for the car.”

            “There she is,” Bob shakes his head.

            “Oh honey, we can’t do that,” Linda sounds genuinely sorry.

            Bob’s eyes gleam. “Now hold on a minute, Lin—“

            “Bobby, we agreed—“

            Louise goes into full sales mode. “Mom, Dad, I know what you’re thinking. You want me to learn about the responsibilities of car ownership, yes? And you’re worried that I’m trying to sneak around it. But I’m really not! I’m offering to do extra work to cover the cost, and actually generate more foot traffic for the restaurant, which will mean more money for the family. It will be a lot of extra responsibility, and help teach me the business end of the restaurant.”

            “Well, you aren’t in charge yet,” Bob reminds her.

            “But you want me to be ready to step up when the time comes,” she says. Her parents exchange brief glances, and Louise knows she won. Mentally, she throws her fist in the air in victory.

            “Your mother and I will talk it over and let you know.”

           

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Louise swings her legs over the edge of the fire escape and lights the glass pipe—pink and green swirl, a gift from Zeke—and takes a hit. Holds it. Exhales with a cough. Below her, Big Baby Pudding Snatcher’s descendants scurry about, playing, nibbling bits of burgers. It’s a peaceful sight, and Louise leans on the bars to enjoy it.

            She takes another hit and admires the pipe. She found it the other day in her apron pocket, as she was checking for pens. At first she thought it was just wadded up tissue paper, but she felt something hard inside, and the shape was easy to deduce. There were only two possible suspects, and since Gene gives presents with great fanfare, she knew it had to be Zeke.

           “Thanks,” she murmured as she reached over him to get the salt and pepper shakers on the shelf over the grill. Bob and Linda were out front, Linda clearing tables, Bob on the register. Well out of line of sight, Louise made sure to “accidentally” rub her breasts on his arm as she seasoned the patties.

           “Not here, babygirl.” His voice was barely a whisper. Zeke tried to glare at her, but she saw the spark in his eyes.

           “I’ll thank you for real later.”  She walked past him, slapping his butt as she did so.

           Gene’s window opens, tearing her back to the present. She instinctively tries to hide the pipe behind her, but relaxes as her brother, in boxers only, as per usual, lumbers clumsily out of the window and onto the escape. He sits next to her, and she offers him a puff.

           They smoke together quietly for a while, and Gene refills the bowl with something that smells like cherries. On the surface, it’s like any other weed-infused evening that the Belchers have enjoyed, but both can feel the undercurrent of an unspoken conversation. The two haven’t talked privately since Sunday morning.

           “I didn’t mean to be an ass. My head was killing me, and…you know.”

           “Yeah, it’s cool.”

           “Is it? Really?”

           “I get it. I mean, you’re my large brother.”

           Gene contemplates the pipe in his hand. “It’s complicated, you know? I don’t want to be a controlling, concern-trolling patriarchal nightmare, but you’re my little sister, and he’s a grown man.”

           “Sounds like someone’s been doing some reading.”

  
           “Tina left her feminism 101 books here. I just want you to tell me that he’s not forcing or pressuring you into doing things.”

           Louise is glad it’s dark, because she can feel herself blushing. “He hasn’t done anything to me that I don’t want.”

            Gene sputters a bit on the smoke. They’re silent for a while, then he says, “So, you haven’t told Tina yet, have you?”

             Louise laughs quietly. “Why would I do that? They just had a one-nighter two years ago.”

            He turns to look at her. His eyes are half-lidded, and he’s trying so hard to look serious that she begins to giggle.

             “Louise, you about ripped off Rudy and Jessica’s heads for keeping their secret from you.”

             “This is different.”

              “Is it?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Do you think Tina will see it that way when she finds out—which she will, eventually, you know.”

               She tries to consider the issue from Tina’s point of view, but her mind is too fuzzy to focus well. “It’s not being secretive, it’s being private.”

              “And you aren’t telling her because you’re afraid of how she’ll react.”

              “Nope.”

              “Just do me a favor and think about it, okay?”

               Louise nods. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

               She waits a beat.  Then, along with Gene, who sees the joke coming a mile away, says, “Nope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a touch shorter than usual, but it covers some important ground. There are longer chapters to come, including some action.


	16. SIXTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief smut ahead.

          “Now you girls have fun, but don’t stay up all night, okay?” Linda calls after Louise and Jessica, grinning smugly.

          “Ugh,” Louise groans as the girls enter her room.

          Jessica flops onto the bed. “Your mom is never going to let you forget that she got us together, is she?”

          “Never-ever,” Louise says. She crouches down and feels under her nightstand. There’s just enough room to unstick the bag of cannabis gummies from the bottom. She holds up the baggie to Jessica. “Groovy bear?”

          “Thanks,” Jessica says. Jessica is merciful, and bites the head off first. Louise likes to torture her’s, nibbling off each paw in turn, then eating the body, leaving the head for last.

           Chewing on the left rear paw, Louise turns on the standing fan, then starts up Pandora on some top 40 crap.  The music itself doesn’t matter, it’s just noise so they can talk privately.

           Jessica, meanwhile, changes into her workout gear. The plan is simple; after her parents are asleep, Louise will let Jessica out down the fire escape. Jessica will spend the night at Rudy’s, which is where Louise will meet her at 5:30. The two girls will then jog back to the Belcher’s place, arriving shortly after her parent’s alarm, and nobody will suspect that anything happened other than two best friends took an early morning run.

           “I really appreciate this,” Jessica says, cracking her knuckles. Since she usually only does that before a big test, Louise knows how nervous Jessica must be.

           “It’ll be fine, really. Um, you guys bought some…?”

           “Some…? Oh yeah!  Yeah. Rudy bought them earlier this week.” Jessica is working her left wrist now, trying to make it pop too.

            Louise opens her mouth to tell Jessica about her own Rudy condom story, how he damn near collapsed on the gas station floor before he could get his inhaler, but stops in time. As open and honest as the three friends have been with each other, there are just some things Louise, who was Rudy’s first in every sense, can’t say to Jessica, her best girl friend and his current, soon-to-be deflowered girlfriend. At least, not yet.

             Jessica pops the remainder of her bear into her mouth. “Did Zeke give you these?”

             “Yeah, he’s cool,” Louise says, trying her best to sound off-hand.

             Jessica raises a brow. “Cool. Uh-huh. So. How big is he?”

             Tina’s joke about Portobello mushrooms balances on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it with the gummy bear’s head. Zeke, once he recovered from the idea that the sisters actually talked about stuff like that, thought it was hilarious and made “mushroom stamping” jokes that Louise did not appreciate, but Louise can’t bring herself to make fun of him to Jessica. She finds, to her astonishment and disgust, that she feels… _ugh_ , protective of him, and their time together. It’s too special to make light of. _Jeez, give me regular doses of the D and I turn into a total sap._

 _“_ We aren’t like that.”

             Jessica fixes her a long, steady look. Louise tries to will herself to not blush, but fails. Jessica rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine.”

             Louise typically doesn’t mind lies, so long as she’s the one telling them; white ones, lies of omission, bold-faced, whatever. But she does mind lying about this to Jessica, partly because she’s the only real girl friend Louise has, partly because she’s confident that Jessica would keep the secret, and partly because she wants to brag. But of course she can’t, not if she wants to keep Zeke out of jail, and certainly not if she wants to become a Soldier of the Fishoeder Family.

            “Yer gonna have to tell a lot of lies and keep a lot of secrets,” Zeke warned her early on. “It’ll get easier in time.”

            Louise shakes her head. “Have you started looking at colleges yet?”

            “Colleges?” Jessica snorts. “Sure, Louise. Let’s talk about _school_. Yeah, Dad says he wants to take me on a couple of tours over the fall. My parents want me to stay in New England, but I’m thinking about the Pacific Northwest. For the adventure.”

            “Oh.” Louise frowns at her nails for a long moment, not knowing how to carry the conversation. “I’m sorry, Jess, you know I can’t talk about it.”

             “It’s okay.”

             Looking into Jessica’s blue eyes, she knows it truly _is_ okay. She grabs a pillow and whacks her friend on the head in gratitude.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

               Jessica leaves around 11:00 with assurances from Louise that it won’t hurt nearly as much as Jess fears. “You might even like it,” she adds with a wink.

               “Thanks, Louise. I…thanks.” Jessica, beet red with embarrassment, hurriedly climbs out the window onto the fire escape.

               Louise tortures another groovy bear, sets the alarm on her phone, and giggles her way through four epic fail videos on YouTube. Relaxed and loose-limbed, she’s starting to drift off to sleep when her phone buzzes with a message.

 **Zeke:** You awake?

She smiles at the phone.

 **Louise:** What do you want?

 **Zeke:** You.

              She climbs off the bed and drifts over to her window. Sure enough, there he is in the alley. He waves to her and disappears in the dark area behind the dumpster between the Belcher’s place and Mort’s, where the light went out last month and hasn’t been replaced yet. Hidden from view of both the street and the restaurant, it’s been the site of more than one of their makeout sessions. Louise pockets her phone and grabs her new sandals. She climbs out her window and quietly makes it down to the alley.

              Zeke takes her in his arms and kisses her deeply. “Hey, what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

              She nips his lower lip. “Oh, I saw some creep hanging out by the dumpster and thought I’d investigate,” she says, slightly breathless from his kiss.

              He nibbles his way down her neck.  Louise bares her throat, gasping as he clamps down on the sweet spot.

              “Better be careful babygirl, some guy might get the wrong idea about you."

              She runs her hands over his shoulders and back, admiring the muscles she feels ripple under his t-shirt. “Like what?”

              “Like maybe you’d be up to a quickie?” He tweaks her nipple, making her gasp.

              “I think that’d be just the right idea.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

               Later, Louise is setting her clothes to rights with hands that are slightly raw from where she braced them against the brick building as Zeke took her from behind. The rational side of her mind is disgusted by the fact that they just rutted behind the dumpster like a couple of dogs in heat. But her primal side, remembering how he’d alternated between praising how good she felt and hissing delicious, depraved things that made her shiver, the way he gripped her hair and rode her hard, how she’d muffled her screams in her arm as she came, her knees all but buckling, can’t wait to do it again.

               Zeke leans against the building, adjusting his belt. “I actually didn’t come here to do that.”

               “Liar.”

               “Naw, really, darlin’.”

               “You told me you don’t typically keep condoms in your wallet.”

               He turns and grins at her. “I pop one in when I know I’m gonna see you.”

               Louise adjusts the straps of her tank top. “You’re saying I’m easy?”

               “I’m sayin’ I’m always hopeful.”

               Zeke sits on a crate and pats his lap. She perches on his knee and wraps her arms around him. They nuzzle together, offering each other gentle little kisses, the soft cooing of post-coital bliss. Balancing her carefully, he digs something out of his pocket.

               “I came here to give you this,” he says.

               It’s too dark to see what he hands her, but Louise can feel something round and squishy in plastic wrap.

               “It’s a cannabis rose gummy,” he says, kissing her cheek.

               Louise snickers. “Some guys give candy _or_ flowers.”

               “Some guys just ain’t creative.”

               “You know I’m high right now on those gummies you gave me earlier, right?”

               “I could taste them on ya,” he says, stroking the tip of her nose. “I like to keep you sweet and happy babygirl, even when I ain’t there to take care of ya.”

               Louise rests her forehead against his and begins playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. A new thought occurs to her. “You _do_ take care of me, don’t you,” she muses. She shifts, uncertain she likes the implications, but too high on groovy bears and sex to work it through as well as she'd like.

               Zeke senses her discomfort. “Now don’t git yer feathers in a ruffle, girl,” he says quickly. “I know you don’t _need_ nobody to look after ya, but I like doin’ it. I think we make a good team, and teammates look out fer each other.”

               “Yeah,” Louise says absently, mollified. She resumes playing with his hair. Teammates. Friends with benefits. Louise isn’t sure that either label is exactly correct, but she knows she likes the way he cuddles her, fusses over her, gives her little pet names. It’s gross. They’re one of _those_ couples, totally disgusting together, but, she reminds herself, just because you like something embarrassing doesn’t mean you have to be embarrassed.

               “Louise honey, you ain’t heard a word I’ve said, have ya?”

               “Sorry.”

               He laughs quietly and rubs her thigh. “Like I was saying, you gotta ‘nuther assignment from Mr. Fischoeder. Next Saturday night. Plan to be out all night. And, uh, bring a bikini.”

               “A bikini?”

               Glad she’s in a good mood, hoping the gummies are still in full effect, he whispers the details in her ear.

               “Oh my God, you’ve _got_ to be kidding!” She shouts.

               He claps a hand over her mouth.

               Louise bites his hand, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to show she’s serious. He yelps and snatches back his hand. “Fuck! I’m gonna git you a ball gag.”

               Louise snickers. “You love it and you know it.”

               He can’t hold back a smirk. “Yeah, but I still think I’m gonna git you that gag. So, whatd’ya think? You up to Mr. Fishoeder’s orders?”

               “That’s insane,” she says quietly.

               “Don’t worry girl, you’ll be great. And I’ll show you a few moves.”

               “Oh, I’m going to be awesome, but damn, I never though he’d ask me to do _that_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Louise's new assignment will be?


	17. SEVENTEEN

          Zeke’s phone vibrates. He opens one eye, grabs the phone from his nightstand, and turns off the alarm. They have almost two hours before they have to be at the warehouse. Good. Plenty of time for showers, even a delivery pizza.

           Louise’s arm tightens around his ribcage. She nestles against his back and, still more asleep than awake, kisses his shoulder. Snuggled in a warm cocoon of tangled sheets and limbs, the smell of sex lingers in the air, and damn, he could stay like this forever. His basement room is dark, save for the porch lights peeking in through the blinds. Eyes adjusting, he gathers his chi and extracts himself from Louise and the sheets.

           “Don’ go,” Louise slurs.

           “You nap a lil’ longer, babygirl, rest up. I’m gonna shower and git us a pizza.”

            “No pineapple,” she murmurs.

            He grins at her, his heart swelling with pride. She cuddles his pillow to her as if it’s his own body, sighing contentedly as she dozes, her features soft and gentle with sleep. _Damn, I'm a lucky bastard._ Knowing that if he doesn’t leave her now they’ll spend the entire night in his bed, he makes for the shower. Fifteen minutes later, clean and dressed, he enters the main room, and is surprised to see that the lights are on. Louise, rolled onto her stomach, propped up on her elbows with her back to him, is scrolling through her phone. Still quite naked, she’s tossed a corner of the sheet over her bottom. He shakes his head. Zeke is quite comfortable with nudity at any time, but Louise, though open and uninhibited when it comes to sex, is rather shy, almost modest, about him seeing her naked when they aren’t in the throws of passion. Not that she’s ever said anything; the artfully draped sheet, the carefully placed arm or pillow tells him everything he needs to know. It’s a cute, girly gesture, odd, considering the source, and he likes it.

            She looks over her shoulder and smiles. “Pizza will be here in 20 minutes.”

            “Thanks fer cookin’. Whatchoo lookin’ at?”

            He walks over to the edge of the bed. He runs a hand over her calf, travels up to the back of her thigh, and finally he sits on the bed, stroking her bottom through the sheet.

            “Just reviewing the rules.”

             He kisses the small of her back. She purrs. Encouraged, he travels his way up, leaving a trail of kisses along her spine. Louise begins to writhe under him. “I thought you said I should rest up.”

             Hovering over her bare nape, he groans. “Damn Louise, I can’t keep my hands off ya.” He rests his forehead on her shoulder blade and gives it a light kiss.   “Yer so amazing and gorgeous, I can’t believe yer—here.”

              Sitting up abruptly, he goes over to the kitchenette and takes out paper plates. “You want water or Coke? That’s all I got.”

              “Uh, water, I guess.”

              He hears the bed creak as she sits up. The atmosphere between them has changed.

               “I’m gonna take a shower,” she says, sounding a bit awkward.

               Zeke doesn’t turn around until he hears the bathroom door close. He rubs his knuckles against his forehead. What he almost said, of course, was that he couldn’t believe she was _his_ , but that would have been stupid, because she isn’t _his_ , anymore than he is _her’s_. They’ve discussed this; it’s a summer fling, maybe a Christmas fling too, that’s all. Louise made it clear that she isn’t looking for a boyfriend, and he sure as hell doesn’t have room in his life right now for a girlfriend, especially one who’s still in high school. But if he did, she’s exactly the sort of girl he’d want. Beautiful, sexy, smart and feisty, she’s a natural fit for his weird, misfit life, she’s so adept at pulling out the tender, nurturing side that he tries to hide, that there’s a part of him that wonders if maybe... _No, better not go there, Zeke_ , he warns himself.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

              Louise caught his abrupt change, of course, but her mind is too focused on the evening ahead to really think about it. She lathers up with the warm vanilla sugar body gel she’d packed with her. Having discovered how much Zeke likes it, she went to Bath and Bodyworks and, in a rare spirit of indulgence, bought the entire line. It’s been worth every penny; he’s constantly touching her, or looking at her with the dark fire in his eyes that makes her feel simultaneously soft and squishy as well as queenly and powerful.

              Clean, moisturized, and scented, she ties on her tomato-red bikini, and tops her outfit off with a tank top and the cutoff shorts she knows Zeke loves. She’s putting everything back in her toiletries bag when the doorbell rings.

              Louise grabs a bottle of water and sits on the bed. A minute later, Zeke descends the creaky old steps, pizza box in his hands. “That guy was higher’n Mount Everest. I damn near gave him a blunt for a tip.”

              She shakes her head and picks out her slice. “You know you’ve hit the next level when you think of weed as a form of currency.”

              “You’ll get there, girl.”

              They sit on his bed, balancing plates on their knees while they eat. Zeke breaks the silence. “What story did ya tell yer parents?”

              “Sleepover at Jessica’s.”

              “Y’all have a lotta sleepovers.”

              “Not as many as our parents think.”

              Zeke pulls off a piece of pepperoni and pops it in his mouth. “I’m surprised they ain’t caught on yet.”

              “Parents are dumb,” Louise shrugs. “Mom is at Aunt Gayle’s handling some crisis, and I think Dad’s too tired to care on the weekends. God, I wish they weren’t so strict! Midnight curfew, my ass.”

              “I dunno, I think it’s kinda nice, the way yer parents look after ya—well, try to look after ya.”  Guilt twists in his stomach, battling with the pizza and Coke. He reminds himself that it ain’t his fault Louise chose to tumble into Mr. Fischoeder’s orbit, and that he, Zeke, really does have her back. As for the sex, well, Zeke wasn’t her first, and he ain’t the kind of guy to manipulate or force a gal into doing things. This is all her own doing, and really, she could have chosen far worse, right? “You got yerself a real nice family.”

               “Zeke, swear to God, if you say my parents are cool, I’ll gut punch you.”

               He holds up his hands in surrender. “I ain’t sayin’ nuttin! Just… momma had me real young, like, younger’n you, and she’s been in’n outta rehab so many times they should offer her a return discount. Dad was young too, so Grandma June brought me up. By the time Dad could take care of me, he had all them girlfriends an’ the stepmothers an’…we moved around a lot.”

               “My family is lame and boring.”

               “It’s stable an’ secure to me. The kinda family I want fer my own kids.”

                Finished with her slice, Louise picks at the pizza crust on her plate. She hates thick pizza crusts; do people actually eat those carb bombs? “Kids?”

                “Yeah,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I know it ain’t what guys are supposed to say, but I really wanna wife an’ kids. But first, I gotta finish my education. Then I’ll build my restaurant, an’ once everything is in place, I’ll find a girl an’ get married.”

                “I can’t imagine myself married,” she says slowly. “I think kids and marriage and all that is Tina or Gene’s thing.”

                “What’dya wanna do then?”

                “Run the restaurant after Mom and Dad retire.”

                “And that’s it?”

                “I haven’t thought about it,” Louise says, wiping her hands on a paper towel.

                “Well, ya don’t gotta have a life plan right now anyway. Ya just gotta get through tonight. Wish I’d had more chance to show ya some moves, but you just _had_ ta wear those little spandex booty pants.”

                “Oh my God, Zeke, they’re called yoga shorts.”

                “Well, they sure made me wanna downward dog ya,” he smirks, looking her up and down.

               She tries to glare at him, but it’s impossible. Louise bursts out laughing, and beans him in the head with her wadded-up paper towel.


	18. EIGHTEEN

             Up until a month ago, Louise had no idea that her tourist-trap hometown has such a seedy underbelly. Since discovering the tawdry side, she’s completely fallen in love with Seymore Bay; it’s no longer just her hometown, it’s _home_. Zeke drives them to the old docks on the north end of town, where they park outside a huge warehouse with scores of other cars. Hands in each other’s back pockets, they make their way to a giant, shabby warehouse, stepping to the beat of the rock music thumping inside. The bouncer waves Zeke in, but takes a moment to check Louise’s name on his list before he lets her follow.

            Louise is instantly reminded of the Christmas rave she and her family crashed years ago. A DJ is playing some house remix of “My Sharona,” flanked by Marshmallow and Cha-Cha spinning on stripper poles. Colored lights flash, illuminating the crowd bouncing with the music, drinks held high. Couples make out on the dance floor, and Louise is pretty sure she spots one girl getting fingered.  Raw energy, dangerous, erotic, crackles in the air, electrifying her to the tips of her fingers. She turns to Zeke with a wolfish grin, and he barely has time to catch his breath before she grabs him by his collar and crashes her lips to his. Hands roam, tongues entwine, and it isn’t until he feels her fingers travel below his belt buckle that Zeke breaks away.

            He shouts something to her that she can’t hear over the music, takes her hand, and pulls her to a doorway. They join a thin but steady stream of people downstairs to a closed door guarded by Mickey and some Wonder Warf drone she recognizes by sight but not by name.

            It’s a bit quieter here, so Louise can hear Mickey wish her good luck. He opens the door for Zeke and Louise. This area is darker than the club overhead,  booming with the music upstairs.  Filled with more men than women, it feels a bit dirtier somehow. The energy is different; this crowd could just as easily break out into a knife fight as an orgy. Zeke, she notices, seems different here too. Chin up, shoulders back, pulling her close to his side, his entire attitude screams, “Mine!” to the men looking at her like she’s their next meal. Part of her thinks he’s being ridiculous—she’s not some damsel in distress, he’s probably never met a woman less, well, _damsely_ —but part of her is simultaneously aroused by and glad for his strength and protectiveness. Sure, she can look after herself, but it’s...nice...to know he has her back. She's never really had that before. He’s right; they do make a good team.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            There’s a huge inflatable pool in the center of the room, carefully roped off from the crowd. Critter is standing by the sound system in the far corner of the room, checking the microphone. He sees them approaching and waves them over.

            “Hey, Louise,” he grins, engulfing her in a hug. He smells like beer, cigarettes, and weed, a combination she always associates with the One-Eyed Snakes as much as their phallic logo. She steps back and smiles. There's a few lines around his eyes, a bit of silver in his hair, but he’s just as tough and peppy as the biker she remembers threatening to cut off Logan’s ears all those years ago.

            “Hey, Critter.”

            “Yer one of the jell-o girls tonight, huh? Bit young, I think, but whatever Mr. Fischoeder says, right Zeke?” He doesn’t stop for an answer. “Git on back behind the curtain with the other girls. We start soon.” He gestures behind him, where a makeshift blue curtain has been strung up along the wall to create a backstage area.

            Zeke pulls her roughly to him and kisses her deeply. She knows it’s a show-kiss, as much a way to publicly mark his territory as it is to express his lust.  She wants to be pissed, but _damn_ , if it isn’t hot as hell. He pulls back and smiles gently at her. “Yer gonna be amazing, babygirl,” he assures her.

            She tries to tell him with her eyes how much she wishes they were alone. “Well duh, obviously. And I thought you said no PDAs,”

            “Ain’t nobody gonna piss off Mr. Fischoeder by talkin’ about what goes on here, ‘specially about a jell-o girl. He’s real protective of jell-o girls.”

            There’s a sudden grimness about his mouth that makes Louise frown. She’s about to ask, when Critter speaks up, startling them both. Lost in each other, they’d forgotten that he was standing there.

            “Now y’all stop moonin’ at each other and let that girl git on back with the others.” He grins at Zeke. “And you better be careful there, boy, movin’ in on my son’s girl like that.”

            “What?”

            “Oh yeah, didn’t I tell ya, Louise? Sidecar swears he’s gonna marry you someday.”

            Louise laughs. “I don’t date guys who don’t know their multiplication tables.”

            She squeezes Zeke’s hand and turns to join the other jell-o girls behind the curtain.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            The backstage area is narrow but long, with a few mirrors, chairs, and tables for the girls to use. Louise joins six other women, all as skimpily clad as she is. They glance at her with various levels of curiosity, and a quick glance confirms that Louise is the youngest there, though she’s pretty sure the next youngest isn’t much past twenty. The oldest, perhaps thirty, a tall blonde with bright brown eyes and a broad smile that seems familiar somehow, strides over and shakes Louise’s hand.

            “Hey, you must be Louise. I’m Jackie.” Jackie is wearing leggings and a crop top. She has a voluptuous figure like Tina’s, the sort that Louise admires, but knows she’ll never have. Jackie, though curvy, isn’t fat; her thick thighs are obviously strong, and the crop top shows off a strip of toned, albeit not ripped, belly. Louise likes her instantly.

            “Hi, Jackie,” she says, pumping the older woman’s hand.  The two women, for all their smiles, subtly try to gauge the other’s strength, each instinctively aware that the other will be her main competition.

            “I told Mudflap n’ Critter I’d look after ya.” Noticing Louise’s raised eyebrow, she adds, “Mudflap’s my older sister.”

            “Oh! I thought you looked familiar. The same eyes and smile.”

            “Yeah, when we was kids, momma said she had twins six years apart.”

            Louise unstraps her sandals and tucks them under one of the folding chairs. “So we get changed back here, I guess?”

            “Nah girl, wear yer bikini under yer clothes and strip out there.”

            Louise’s laughter dies as she realizes that Jackie is serious. “Yeah, that’s the best way to git tips. See, they got tip jars for each gal upfront, and trust me, a good striptease really bumps up the money.”

            “I didn’t know I’d have to strip.”

            “Girl, trust me, it ain’t like real stripping. You got yer bikini on—with double-sided tape, if yer smart—it’s just bein’ sexy an’ flirty.”

            Louise’s internal struggle is sharp but short-lived. She remembers Tina, in their underground casino all those years ago, smiling over her shoulder: " _Flirt a little, wink a little_." Tina, years later, pairing a g-string and stripper heels with that same smile, painting herself with a heavy mask of expensive cosmetics.  Yes, this is closer to sex work than Louise would like, closer than Louise thought she'd ever get, and she knows Tina would scream at her to run away, but Louise also knows that she has to stand her ground if she wants to be considered for Soldier status. The money, and the security she can buy with it for herself and her family, are just too important. And like Jackie said, it’s just flirting, right?

            “I don’t have any double-sided tape.”

            “Don’t worry, I got plenty,” Jackie, obviously the “mom” of the group, pats her shoulder.

            Louise falls into the easy backstage camaraderie; onstage, sure, they’ll try to defeat each other. She knows Jackie, for all her friendliness, will be absolutely merciless. But backstage, they’re a team, swapping lip gloss and helping each other stick down their bikini bottoms and bras. Louise pulls her long hair into a high ponytail and quickly slaps on some mascara and gloss.

            “At least you don’t need self-tanner to not look washed out under the lights,” Jackie says, admiring Louise’s golden-brown limbs. “You Italian or somethin’?”

            “I’m—“

            The music changes, a soft bumping. Christina Aguilera whispers “Dirrry,” and the crowd roars.

            “It’s go time!” Jackie yells. She glances at a sheet on one of the tables. “You two are up first,” she adds, pointing at Louise and the second-youngest girl. They talked earlier, but Louise can’t remember anything about her except that she seemed permanently red-faced and couldn’t make eye contact. How this girl is going to strip in front of a hundred strangers is beyond Louise.

            Critter’s voice booms over the music. “Tonight we got seven fine ladies fer yer amusement. First up are our two wrestlin’ virgins, Goldielocks an’ Lil’ Baby B!”

            Louise and Goldielocks—who Louise thinks is actually called Jane, or something boring like that—exchange a nervous glance, then stride out behind the curtain and into the spotlight before the cheering crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t sure what Louise’s next task should be, and jell-o wrestling is such a silly, eccentric task, perfect coming from Mr. Fischoeder. I’ve never jell-o wrestled or witnessed it being done, but there’s lots of information on the Internet, to which I naturally added my own spin. I’m sure those with personal experience will forgive any errors on my part. 
> 
> Jackie is loosely based on a wonderful coworker of mine. She’s one of the nicest women you’ll ever meet, a good ol’ girl who takes no crap from anyone, but hasn’t allowed her bad-ass attitude to crowd out her humor.
> 
> There are probably dozens of covers of The Knack’s “My Sharona” on YouTube, but I don’t think any of them can touch the original, with the possible exception of Hammerfall’s. Still, I assume that someone, somewhere, has recorded an amazing version. Let me know if you have any recommendations.


	19. NINETEEN

            Louise, the bolder of the two, steps out first, and is almost blinded by the hard spotlight. Still, following the ropes, she manages to make her way down the narrow corridor and over to Critter, who is standing in the corner of the ring. The huge pool in the center glistens with apple-green jell-o. Outside of the ring two women, wearing tiny bikinis and towering stripper heels, stand at a long table, each holding a jar aloft.

            “Remember, ladies and gentlemen, vote for yer favorites and vote often! A dollar for yer favorite gal is a vote fer her return! Also, the betting pool is officially open! See James or Maria over by the bar if yer interested. Up here, Dirty Jen on the left’s got Goldielock’s jar—“He gestures to the ginger woman, who grins and shakes her tits at the cheering crowd. “And on the right is my ol’ lady, Mudflap, workin’ it fer Li’l Baby B!”

            Louise does a double-take, confirming that yes, that really is Mudflap, grinning at Louise over her shoulder. Granted, Mudflap probably passed her prime bikini years before Sidecar was born, but she wears a hot-pink number with such confidence that Louise will gladly beat the crap out of the first person who gives the older woman grief about her muffin top and dimpled thighs.

            “’Nuf of that business talk. Strip off them gladrags and show us what ya got girls!”

            The crowd roars. Goldielocks begins simpering and preening, lifting the hem of her t-shirt to flash the crowd. Dirty Jen shakes her sizable breasts again, enticing men to come over and drop bills into Goldielock’s jar.

            Louise freezes. Strip. _Tina, the haunted look in her eyes as, at age nineteen, she had enough experience to call topless review “the business”._    Can—can she really do it?   Stomach rolling, her eyes roam over the leering crowd, and stop on Zeke, who found his way front and center. Everyone around him is jumping and screaming, but Zeke stands still, feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed, wearing the smirk she can’t resist.

            Relaxing, confidence surging through her, Louise grins back. Can she do this? She’d like to know who thinks he could stop her! She raises her arms in a long, languorous stretch, turning slowly and undulating her spine. There’s no way she’s going to be outshone by some prissy little thing like Goldielocks, who is now posing like some “Toddlers and Tiaras” reject. Louise teases the audience, playing with the edge of her tank top. Rolling her hips, she turns her back and slowly removes her top. She looks over her shoulder and winks at Zeke, then turns head-on to the audience, bends at the waist to “stretch,” and shimmies her shoulders, setting her breasts, smaller than she’d like, but adequate for the job, jiggling.  More cheers, and now a group of men are approaching Mudflap to drop in tips. Zeke nods, his smirk both pleased and proud.

           Feeling more confident now, Louise unlatches her belt buckle, rolling her hips, slowly lowering her cutoffs to the floor. More cheers, even hooting, as Louise pivots, dropping her bottom and bouncing. Finally, with her back to the crowd, she bends over to “stretch” again, grabbing one ankle, the other, then both, peering between her spread legs and wiggling her ass, her eyes locked with Zeke’s.

           “Goddamn, girl!” Mudflap whoops. There’s no doubt which girl will have the fuller tip jar now.

          “Alright ladies, one to a corner, backs to the pool.” Critter orders. After they take up their posts, he continues. “This here game’s called Find the Coin. I’m gonna put a coin somewhere in the pool. The first gal to entirely leave the pool with the coin wins.”

          Louise strains to follow the squishy sound of his footsteps as he walks into the pool, to figure out where he dropped the coin. Towards the back, maybe? It’s hard to hear over the crowd, and of course he’s going over the rules as he walks. “Now remember gals, the rules of jell-o wrestlin’ are simple: no kickin’, punchn’, bitin’, hair pullin’, or chokin’. Have fun! We wanna good, clean fight, ladies!”

          The music changes, transforming from the stripper-friendly “Dirrty,” to Halestorm’s thumping rock song “Uncomfortable”:

 

_I did it ‘cause I wanna and I did it ‘cause I’m gonna_

_and I did it just because I can_

_I did it ‘cause it makes me feel so good,_

_And I did it because fuck “the man”_

           

            Excitement builds in his voice. “Here we go, gals, on three…two…one… _gooooooo!_

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Louise whips around and runs to the pool. The second her foot hits the jell-o she slips, landing on her knees. Thankfully, there seems to be some sort of padding under the pool, so it doesn’t hurt. Goldielocks slides in from the other side. Louise scans for telltale footprints, but someone thought of that, and made sure the jell-o was churned up prior to the fight. _Damn_.

            Is that a shadow she sees over to the right? Louise dives, belly-flopping. Goldielocks is on top of her, their hands slip and slide around each other and in the jell-o, and, with a victorious cry, Goldielocks holds up her clenched fist. Louise grabs her wrist and flips the other girl onto her back, and the two wrestle, a tangle of arms and legs, screeches and curses. Louise is surprised by the other girl’s competitiveness and strength. Honestly, she thought Goldielocks would be a total pushover, but she’s glad she was wrong; the fight, the struggle, will make her victory all the sweeter.

            Goldielocks makes a dash for the edge of the pool, but Louise grabs her ankle and yanks her back in. The two crash together, and Louise, rolling on top, tickles the other girl’s ribs. Goldielocks bursts into giggles, and Louise takes the opportunity to pry open her hand. Gripping the coin, Louise dives for the lip of the pool, slides half out, but is stopped by the blonde’s hand on her foot. Louise slips out of her precarious grip and flops her lower half out of the pool, inelegant, but effective.

            The crowd is roaring as Louise struggles to her feet, holding the coin high in victory. “Woooooo!” she crows.

            “And the winner is Lou—Li’l Baby B! Give it up for our girls, folks!”

            Clearly disappointed, but still smiling, Goldielocks wades out of the pool. Louise, who is as sore a looser as she is a gloating winner, has to admire her sportsmanship. She holds out a hand, and helps the other girl out of the pool. She just catches the wicked glint in Goldielock’s eyes before the other girl grabs Louise’s cheeks and plants a full, sloppy kiss on her lips.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

            The next hour passes quickly for Louise. She participates in another three contests, of which she wins two. First she wrestles Goldielocks again, along with the appropriately-named Ginger. The three dive for two coins, then the semi-finalists (Louise and Goldielocks) search for a final, third coin.  Goldielocks won that time.  Louise also does well at standard, pin-your-opponent wrestling, though Big Allie, so named because she’s almost six-feet tall, put up one hell of a fight. The little Zeke was able to show her is of no use; sticky with layers of semi-dried jell-o in some places, slimy with a fresh layer in others, it’s less a skill and more of a melee.

            The seven women stand lined up behind Critter. “Now folks, it’s time for the Challenger’s round. We got here our reigning champion, The Jackhammer—“

            Jackie, all but unrecognizable under her layers of jell-o, steps forward, arms high, cheering for herself. The crowd whoops in response.

            “And tonight’s challenger, the gal _you_ voted to fight the final round against our undisputed champion. Mudflap, which of our virgins are goin’ up against The Jackhammer?”

            He hands the microphone to Mudflap. “That’s gonna be Little Baby B!”

            More cheers as Louise steps forward.

            “Yer goin’ _dowwwwn_ , lil’ girl,” The Jackhammer yells.

            “Oh yeah old lady? I’ll have you pinned on your back in three seconds flat!”

            The crowd, most of whom are quite drunk now, roar approval as the two women meet on either side of Critter, smacktalking into the microphone so everyone can hear.

            “Sweetie, you’re outta your league! Just forfeit now or git pounded by The Jackhammer!”

            Still grinning, still friendly, but meaning every word, Louise and Jackie don’t blink. They’re eye-to-eye, toe-to-toe.

            “Oh, you aren’t ready for my jelly!”

            Critter breaks them apart. “Ladies, ladies, ladies! Don’t wear yourselves out talkin’. There’s a better way to solve this— _in the pit_!”

            More cheers, as Louise and Jackie enter the pool, which has been refilled three times already, the final time with lurid pink jell-o. Critter stays between them.

            “The rules are simple. Pin yer opponent for a count of ten. Two out of three victories will determine the winner. Good luck to ya both, and may the baddest gal win!”

           He steps out of the pool, leaving the women standing an arm’s length apart, tensed, ready to spring into action. “On my mark! Three! Two! One! _Gooooooooo_!”


	20. TWENTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy!

            The two women meet in the center, gripping each other’s shoulders. Jackie is heavier, older, more experienced, but Louise is taller, more athletic, and has all the blithe confidence of youth on her side. Still, old dogs know plenty of tricks, and Louise’s eyes widen in shock as she feels Jackie’s leg slip behind her own, popping her knee and bringing her down.

            Louise lands on her back, the older woman kneels over her, pinning Louise’s wrists to the mat. Critter begins to count down, and makes it to seven before Louise manages to wrap her legs around The Jackhammer’s waist and, with a torque, flip her onto her side. Caught off-guard, Jackie is easily rolled onto her back, and their positions are reversed, to the delight of the cheering crowd, with Louise straddling her, pinning her wrists to the pool. Louise leans down, reveling in capturing her prey.

            “That’s one! Two!”

            The Jackhammer stretches up and catches Louise’s lips in a kiss, arching her hips into the younger woman’s crotch. Surprised but determined, Louise hangs on tight, refusing to loose to a game of lesbian chicken. Critter hits “Ten!”, and Louise lets go of Jackie’s wrists and rolls off.

            “Wooooo!” Louise yells, pumping her fist in the air.

            “Beginner’s luck!” Jackie counters, struggling up to sit up.

            Critter woops too. “Round one goes to Li’l Baby B! Back up onto your knees this time, gals.”

            The women struggle, helping each other to their knees. “I ain’t gonna underestimate you again, sweetcheeks,” Jackie says, her eyes sparkling.  Then, more quietly, so only Louise can hear, “Yer Zeke’s girl, ain’t ya?”

            “We’re…we have a thing.”

            “He’s one lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

             “I know, right?”

            Knowing now what she’s up against, The Jackhammer is ruthless, and Louise ends round two face-first in the pit, her nostrils clogged with jell-o, her arms pinned over her head. Critter gives her and The Jackhammer a minute to “freshen up,” which is a polite way of letting Louise run to the back and blow jell-o out of her nose. She rejoins him quickly with stinging nostrils and watery eyes.

            “Alright ladies and gentlemen, I been told the house ain’t takin’ no more bets. Our gals are deadlocked, winner takes all this round. In three…two…one… _go_!”

            On their knees, sticky and slimy, the women grip each other’s shoulders, trying to knock the other over. Louise’s right knee slips out from under her, upsetting her balance, and The Jackhammer takes full advantage, pushing Louise onto her side. Louise’s face hits the squishy, cool jell-o, and Jackie slips and falls on her. They try to wrestle but end up just flailing about on each other, first Louise, then The Jackhammer, coming out on top, pinning Louise’s crossed arms over her chest.

            “One…two…three…”

            “Yer done, Baby B!” The Jackhammer grins, grinding her hips on Louise’s belly.

            “Four…five…six…”

            Louise thrashes, but she has no leverage whatsoever, and Jackie is heavier than she looks.

            “Seven…eight…”

            Louise squirms. “No!”

            “Nine and ten! Better luck next time, Lil’ Baby B, because tonight’s victory goes to The Jackhammer!”

           

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Louise finds herself in better spirits than she expected, given that she lost. Having taken the edge off by assuring The Jackhammer that she, Li’l Baby B, only _let_ her win, that revenge is a bitch and so is she, Louise salutes the cheering crowd—some of whom are still surrounding Mudflap and stuffing the jar with money—and goes backstage to try to scrub off some of the jell-o with a damp cloth.

            The camaraderie is still high amongst the women. Goldielocks grins and hugs her. “You were so close.”

            “A near miss is still a miss,” Louise mutteres. “Jane, right?”

            “Yeah.”

            “I gotta admit, I thought you’d be a pushover. Good job.”

            “Thanks. You were surprisingly good too, being so young.” Jane squints slightly. “You aren’t 18 yet, are you?”

            “No.”

            “Jeez, I thought I was starting young.”

            Louise and Jane exchange numbers and help each other scrub off as much of the jell-o as they can. Louise knows it’s going to take a hot shower and copious amounts of shampoo to feel clean again. Jackie comes up from behind and smacks Jane’s butt.

            “Great job, ladies. Don’t forget to see Mudflap n’ Dirty Jen fer yer tips. Louise, you got Zeke to look after ya.” She turns to Jane and licks her lip. “You okay crashing at my place, babe?”

            Jane smiles shyly and turns pink. “Of course.”

            “Good.”  

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

           

            Louise and Zeke leave shortly after that, wads of bills bulging in her pockets. Zeke, clearly on high alert, keeps a firm arm around her, again in full alpha-male mode.

            “You think I can’t beat whatever punk-ass bitch tries to mug me?” She glowers as he steers her out of the building. Her ego bruised by defeat, she isn’t in the mood to be treated like some weak little princess.

            “Ain’t the time or place, girl.”

            She stops with a stamp of her foot.

            He barely pauses, pulling her along by her arm.  She stumbles, tripping over her feet. She knows she’s going to have a bruise later. “You’re hurting me, asshole!”

           “I’ll explain in the car, damn it.”

            Louise flings herself into the front seat, and barely let’s Zeke start the engine before she unleashes on him.

            “What the hell, Zeke!”

            “What the hell yerself, Louise!” He makes a right out of the parking lot onto the street, taking the corner too fast and making the tires squeal. “Yer walkin’ around with half yer ass hangin’ out after a show like _that_ with what, ‘bout 200 bucks in yer pockets, and ya wanna know why I wanna git you outta there fast?”

            “I can take care of myself.”

            “One on one, _maybe_. What about two or three? What if they got knives? Guns? It ain’t a good place fer a woman to be by herself, and Mr. Fischoeder’s got rules.”

            “I thought you said nobody would want to risk angering Mr. Fischoeder by messing with a jell-o girl.”

            Distracted, he nearly runs a red light and hits the breaks hard. "Shit!"  They jerk against the seatbelts. “You ain’t a fool, so stop talkin’ like one. Rules’r only as good as their enforcement,” he says, and Louise can tell he’s quoting something he’s been told repeatedly. “I didn't like some of what I was hearin' from the men around me.”

            "Were you expecting love poetry at a jell-o wrestling match?"

            Zeke stares at her hard, his big fists gripping the steering wheel like he wants to break it in half. His forearms are flexed with the effort, and anger rolls off of him and smacks into her like hurricane waves hitting the storm surge barriers on the beach. Louise is suddenly, acutely aware that the charming, easy-going Zeke that she knows is also a powerful and dangerous man. She’s not intimidated, of course, but her own furious words die on her lips.

            He licks his lips.  Doubt begins to creep in; _were_ they actually dangerous, or is he just reacting to the fact that he, Zeke, is her Guardian Associate and responsible for her safety, and they were talking about his girl like that?  Zeke shuts down that line of thought.  She ain't his girl, and he's in too deep to doubt himself now.  "Trust me, Louise, I know what guys sound like at this sort of thing, and this was...my gut said to git you outta there fast.  Most of the men there wouldn’t hurt ya in the first place, an’ you don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against the ones who would.”

            The light turns green, and they ride in silence for a few minutes, him watching the road, Louise staring out the window. “Was some jell-o girl hurt or something?” she finally asks.

            He cuts her a sharp look. “You could say that.”

            Zeke frowns, considering for a moment. “It was years ago. I don’t think ya ever knew the gal, but she refused an escort to her car. Three guys jumped her and—well, she damn near bled to death in the parking lot before someone found ‘er. I don’t know what Mr. Fischoeder paid to keep ‘er from goin’ to the police. Me an’ a couplea Soldiers made sure those bastards knew to git outta town and never come back. One was stupid enough to not take the hint.”

            He chews his lip. After a long pause, he softly adds, “It was my job to make sure he didn’t go nowhere ever again.”

            A chill raises goosebumps on her arms. “Oh.”

            “Yeah."

            They ride the rest of the way back to his place in silence. Louise can’t stop staring at him. She has a thousand questions, but for once knows better than to ask them. Even if he answers them—and she’s pretty sure he won’t—they’re pointless. She knows enough.

            “I wouldn’t waste time kickin’ the shit out of the fucker who did that to you, Louise,” he says quietly, as he puts the truck into park in the driveway. “I’d just kill ‘im.” Louise takes one look at him and knows that’s not exaggeration, it’s a statement of fact.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Louise hops into the shower and scrubs off the layers of jell-o. _You’re sick, Louise Belcher_ , she admonishes herself as she runs soapy hands over her breasts. Try as she might to focus on washing off the layers of goo from her skin, her mind betrays her and her hands follow suit, traveling lower down her body. She’s never had rescue fantasies before; she’s a damsel who can rescue herself, thank you very much. Still... _Zeke arrives just in time, beats the bastard to death with his bare hands. Eyes mad with bloodlust, he rips off the rest of her clothes and pins her beneath him, his hands leaving red, bloody prints and smears on her body_.   Almost painfully aroused, she forces her hands out from between her legs and determinedly washes her hair, which is a disaster and requires epic quantities of shampoo. She knows she’s going to wake up looking like Magenta from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , as she doesn’t have the time or tools to dry it properly, but mad hair is better than a sticky, stringy helmet.

            For the first time in her life, Louise wishes she had sexy lingerie. She slips on a thin cotton camisole and lacy black panties and steps out of the bathroom, her nipples hardening in the cool air. She blinks at what she sees.

            The basement is illuminated by a few candles, and moonlight streams in from the open blinds. Louise recognizes it as a sad attempt at romance—nothing could make that basement look romantic—but some gross, sappy part of her is genuinely touched by the effort. Zeke walks over, naked except for his jeans, and wraps his arms around her waist. He gently nuzzles her neck, his lips barely grazing her skin. Desperate for him to finish what she started in the shower, Louise sighs, aroused more than she thought possible by his light touch. She buries her fingers in his hair.

            “I want you so much,” she breathes, surprising herself as much as him by her bald admission.

            He pulls back and strokes her cheek, his eyes alight with a heat that is lustful, yes, but contains something else she can’t quite identify. “I got plans fer you, babygirl.”

            Zeke kisses her lips softly, their tongues entwine, but it’s still gentle, investigative, and it’s unbelievably, knee-wobblingly erotic, unlike anything Louise has ever experienced. She wants it to go on forever. She wants it to build into something more. She aches for him in ways and on levels she couldn’t have imagined before, and finds that she’s actually shaking in his arms.

            He breaks the kiss, rubs the tip of his nose against hers. He kisses her again, more forcefully this time, and his hands run lightly over her breasts, softly stroking and rolling her nipples, enough to arouse, not enough to satisfy, until she’s gasping, grabbing his ass and pulling him to her, grinding against him.

            Zeke withdraws his hands, and Louise growls with frustration. He lifts her chin and locks his eyes with hers. “We’re gonna do somethin’ a li’l different tonight, alright, sweetheart.”

            It’s a statement, not a question. Louise, dripping with lust, nods, and fuck all if it ain’t the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, her eyes huge and naked with need. He runs his thumb lightly over her swollen lips. “Tonight, yer _my_ babygirl, you understand me? All mine.”

            “Uh-huh,” Louise breathes, clutching his shoulders. “All yours.” She’s not entirely sure what he means; Louise is an all-in sort of girl, she’s never held back sexually from him, but she’s not in a condition to ask questions. Her eyes sparkle and a small, wicked smile plays on her lips. “And _you_ are _mine_.”

            He grins and scoops her up in his arms, bridal-style. “All yours.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Completely worked over, turned inside out, having flown to new heights and crashed hard, shattered in a thousand beautiful pieces, Louise shivers in Zeke’s arms. He kisses the top of her head, and she swears she feels his lips down to her toenails. _Goddamn_ , she’s never imagined anything like this. Passionate, tender, leaving her feeling cherished and adored, yes, but also raw and dangerously exposed. Now she understands what he wanted, what she agreed to, and she’s not sure it was a good idea.  They didn't just have sex, there's no denying or mistaking it—they made love. Tomorrow morning they’ll just be friends with benefits, but here, tonight, she is all his, and he is entirely hers.

            She clings tightly to him, and he squeezes her in response. Louise’s heart pounds with danger. It’s a good thing he’s leaving in a week; otherwise, she might do something stupid and start to think that…to…to…f-f-feel that…

            “You okay, honey?”

            Louise lifts her head from his chest. She opens her mouth and tries to say something. She can make only a strangled sound, and ends biting her trembling lower lip. He strokes her cheek, his eyes soft with understanding and wistfulness.

            “Same, babygirl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally imagined Jane as kind of a throwaway character, but the more time I spent with her the more I liked her. There’s more to her and Jackie’s story, of course. Hum…maybe they’ll show up later, in a Belcher holiday fic. Hint-hint.


	21. TWENTY-ONE

           “That’s enough Bobby. We’re going to have one, and that’s final.”

            Louise, anxious about her meeting with Mr. Fischoeder this afternoon, groggy and grumpy from a short, unrestful night’s sleep, stops in the kitchen doorway and blinks at her parents. “What are you arguing about, and more importantly, why are you burning the bacon?”

            “Crap!” Bob turns back to the pan and flips the bacon onto a plate.

            “Mine!” calls out Gene from his spot at the table. Nobody objects; only Gene can stomach half-burnt bacon.

            “Your father,” Linda pauses for effect, glaring at Bob, “doesn’t want us to hold a Christmas party this year.”

            “Oh my God,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First, it’s barely late August. Second, I’m not objecting, I just don’t want this party of yours to get out of hand.”

            “What?” Linda laughs, her eyes darting guiltily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Yeah Dad, Mom would never go completely insane and, oh, I don’t know, lock guests in their room—“

            “Or hostess a mandatory ice-cream social—“ Gene adds around mouthfuls of bacon.

            “Or call the police three times over stolen Christmas ornaments,” Bob grins, “Or—“

            “Okay, so I’ve gotten carried away in the past,” Linda pouts. “But Tina promised to come home, and I want to have a nice little party. Something small. Just family. And a few friends.”

            Bob sighs, knowing full well that “just family and a few friends” will quickly blossom to include half the town. “Fine. But we’re going to make a budget.”

            “ _Alriiiiiiight_!”

            “What are your plans for today, Louise?”

            God, her father has, like, no ability to smoothly change the subject. “I thought I’d check out Goodwill and see if they got any more jeans. Meet some friends at the Warf. Basic stuff.”

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Louise and Zeke arrive at the Warf almost an hour before their meeting with Mr. Fischoeder. They sit off to the side in the shade, splitting an order of curly fries, and make fun of the tourists with their tacky souvenir bags and lobster-red sunburns. It’s similar to the Burn Unit, but different enough that she doesn’t feel like she’s betraying her dad. It’s also a good distraction; today she finds out if she’s going to become a Soldier. It wasn’t until yesterday that her nerves kicked in.  Up until that point, she figured she was a shoe-in, but the second after she and Zeke finalized their plans, doubts took over. She scarcely slept last night.

            Hidden from view, Zeke reaches under the table and places a calming palm on her thigh. Until that point unaware she was anxiously bouncing her leg, she glowers at him and pops a fry in her mouth. His fingers stroke her bare skin, drifting to her inner thigh. Louise’s legs part just the tiniest bit, her eyelids droop ever so slightly, and _damn_ , he just wants to blow off their meeting and drag her back to his place. They have only three more days together, and Zeke is determined to spend as much of that time inside of her as he possibly can.

            “You gotta wait, babygirl,” he purrs in her ear. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

            “Better be,” she mutters, standing up to throw away their trash. She smirks at him over her shoulder.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            Zeke and Louise hold hands outside one of the maintenance closets deep in the back of house warren at Wonder Warf, which is currently acting as Mr. Fischoeder’s office. His brother, Felix, blocks the doorway. “He said he’d signal when he’s ready.”

            Behind the door there’s a strange noise, almost an owl’s hoot, if it were performed by someone who’s never actually heard an owl before, but understands the sound in theory.

            “There it is,” Felix says, and opens the door.

            Mr. Fischoeder is seated on a folding chair in the middle of the room, a rolling cart parked in front of him acting as an impromptu desk. Off in the corner, Louise can see three people doing a laughably bad job at hiding behind a curtain of mops and brooms. She recognizes Mudflap and Critter, but isn’t sure who the other person is; male, she’s sure of that, probably grey-haired, but he’s too well shielded by the large bikers to get a good look.

            Mr. Fischoeder holds out his hand, and Zeke kisses his pinkie ring. Louise stares at the bottle of expensive-looking wine and apparently antique silver goblet on the cart.

            “Zeke, on time, very good,” Mr. Fishoeder mutters, almost under his breath. “Baby Belcher, approach me.”

            The room is far too small for so many people. She manages to shuffle forward a step. “Yes, Mr. Fischoeder?”

            “I have reviewed your work,” he says. “I have found you satisfactory overall, occasionally exemplary. Your application to be a Soldier has been approved.”

            Louise surprises herself by exhaling heavily; she didn’t even know she was holding her breath. “That’s great, sir.”

            Mr. Fischoeder stands up. “Is it your wish, then, Baby Belcher, also known as Louise Gloria Belcher, to be made a Soldier, sometimes also known as Provisional Associate, to the Fishoeder Family?”

            Louise doesn’t hesitate. “Yes it is, Mr. Fishoeder.”

            “Good, good,” Mr. Fishoeder smiles. “Felix, escort in the Captain and Guardian Associates.”

            “Excuse me, pardon me.” Felix shuffles, flattened against the wall, tripping over Zeke’s feet as he makes his way over to the people “hiding” behind the mops. “If I could just—“

            Critter and Mudflap take the three steps required to walk over to the cart. “Critter an’ Mudflap here, Made Associates. We agree to act as Guardian Associates to Baby Belcher.”

            Louise’s jaw drops when the third person steps out from behind the mops, adjusting his toupee and completing the half-circle around the cart. “Mort, Parish Five Captain. I agree to act as Baby Belcher’s Captain.”

            “Oh my God,” Louise breathes.

            He winks at her. “Surprise!”

            “Zeke, Made Associate, former Guardian Associate, I witness this proceeding.”

            “Felix Fischoeder, Underboss. I witness this proceeding.”

            Mr. Fischoeder nods. “Felix, the chalice.”

            “It’s right there.”

            “I know it’s right there. The wine. Pour it. The wine.”

            “But you—“

            “Felix!”

            The rest stand in uncomfortable silence as the brothers argue. Fortunately, the disagreement is brief, and ends, predictably, with a grumpy Felix Fischoeder pouring wine in the chalice. He passes it to Mort.

            “I accept Baby Belcher as one of us,” Mort says, and takes a sip, passing the cup to Critter.

            “I accept Baby Belcher as one of us.” Critter takes a gulp and passes the half-empty chalice to his wife.

            “I accept Baby Belcher as one of us.” Sip.

            Zeke takes the chalice next. He smirks. “I accept _Baby Belcher_ as one of us.”

            Felix drinks. “I accept Baby Belcher as one of us.”

            Mr. Fischoeder takes the chalice and stands before Louise. “Will you be one of us, a Soldier, sometimes known as Provisional Associate, of the Fischoeder Family, Baby Belcher?”

            Louise’s heart is thumping so hard she’s sure everyone in the room can hear it. This is it! Not full Associate yet, but this is her way in, and she feels the importance of the moment in her stomach. “I will.”

            “Will you obey the orders of your superiors?”

            “I will.”

            “Will you maintain our privacy to outsiders, and defend the honor of the Family to the utmost of your ability, in word, deed, and action?”

            “I will.”

            “Then drink, Baby Belcher, and become one of us.”

            Louise takes the chalice from him. She touches it to her lips and takes a sip of wine. She feels the pieces of her life slip into place as she swallows, and knows that nothing will ever be the same again.

            Mr. Fischoeder takes the chalice and holds it up above his head. “I accept you.” He drains the wine and hands the empty cup back to his brother.

            “One of us!” The group chants.

            Zeke whoops and lifts her up, planting a sloppy kiss on her lips.

 

*                        *                        *                        *                        *

 

            A week later, Louise helps her mother close the restaurant while Bob and Gene are upstairs cooking dinner. She checks her phone for like, the millionth time in the past three hours. She sent Zeke a funny Gordon Ramsey meme earlier in the day, and he hasn’t responded yet, not even a smiley face or LOL.

            She pours more oil than necessary on the warm flattop, grabs the brick, and begins to scrub. _He’s probably at a bar with friends, picking up some balloon-breasted bimbo._ She knows she’s being irrational, and the knowledge makes her even angrier. They aren’t dating, they never were. He can go out and do whatever with whomever. So can she. It’s no skin off her nose. It’s not like she _misses_ him or something.

            Louise looks down and blinks, suddenly realizing that she’s scrubbed a clean, shiny circle smack in the middle of the filthy grill. Cursing under her breath, not caring if her mother hears or not, Louise moves on to the rest.

            As a special treat, Bob and Linda let Louise stay out all night for Zeke’s going-away party, reasoning that she would be safe with Zeke. Little did they realize that Zeke, Louise, Gene, Lenny, and a handful of others left Wonder Warf at midnight and went their separate ways. Lenny’s parents were out of town, a fact that Gene and Lenny took full advantage of. Louise and Zeke spent their last night together consumed with the desperate, mutual desire to cram as much sex as they could into the little time they had left.

            And now here she is, angrily scrubbing the grill, stinging her fingers with flecks of hot oil. The restaurant is curiously hollow without his dumb, booming laugh, his stupid grin, his big sexy body as he lifts her up, bracing her back against the wall, thrusting up and in—

            “ _Fuck_!” Louise shouts, leaping back from the grill. She hadn’t been paying attention, scrubbed too hard, and the brick slipped. Her hand came flat down on the still-hot grill.

            Linda flies upstairs from the basement to the kitchen. “Oh baby, what is it? Are you okay?”

            Louise is at the sink, desperately trying to rinse the sting away under cool water. “Yeah, Mom, I’m just great, for someone who just burned her _fucking_ hand down the _fucking_ bone on the _fucking_ grill.”

            Linda sighs and gently holds her daughter’s hand in her own. Wet, a bit pink, her hand is fine.  “Honey, I know it hurts, but it’s not that bad. I’ll finish the grill. Now stop cursing.”

            “O- _fucking_ -kay, Mom.”

            “Louise! I know you miss him, but that’s not an excuse for your behavior this week, young lady.”

            Louise snorts. “Miss who? I don’t miss anybody.”

            Linda raises an eyebrow.

            “Oh, you mean the Mad Pooper. Please.” Louise doesn’t miss a thing about him. Not the way he called her revoltingly cute nicknames. She can easily do without his gross smirk.   She sure as hell doesn’t already miss having sex with him, actually ache for his strong, muscular body, the way he held her, kissed her, worked double-time to please her. Louise depends on nobody but her family—and even then, it’s begrudgingly—but now that he’s gone, Louise realizes that there’s an empty space in her life where his steady, reliable support had been.  She’s lost an ally she didn’t know she had until he left.

            “Oh Louise,” Linda sighs. “It’s perfectly natural to have a little crush on an older boy, honey.”

            “Mom, I’m going to literally vomit if you start that.”

            “What, he’s a good looking guy. I’d have a little crush on him if I were your age.”

            Louise stares at her mother in horror. Her words evoke terrible, disgusting images in Louise’s mind. The only good thing about it is that Linda wouldn’t talk like this if she had the slightest inkling of what actually happened between her daughter and the grill cook.

            “Mom, I’m just going to say this once; I did not and do not have a crush— _blech_ —on _Zeke_. End of.”

            “Alright, alright, touchy subject, I’m sorry.” Linda cuts her daughter a sideglance. “Then I guess you don’t care that he already RSVPd for our Christmas party.”

            “Not at all,” Louise says, but can’t stop the faint blush from staining her cheeks.

 

**END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> First, huge thanks to you for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and offering kudos. Some chapters kind of wrote themselves, some were like pulling teeth, and I’m grateful to you for sticking with it. I can scarcely believe that something I wrote has garnered almost 550 views, especially since Louise/Zeke is not a popular ship.
> 
> As per usual, I have to give “Archer” credit for some of the best lines throughout the story. Of course, I don’t own “Bob’s Burgers” or any of the other pop culture references in this story, I’m just borrowing from others for funsies.
> 
> The songs "Be My Girl" by Jet and "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves" by Cher strongly influenced how I wrote Louise and Zeke.
> 
> Movie buffs will recognize that Louise’s initiation was inspired more by “Freaks” than anything truly mafia related. I thought the goofiness made sense, as this is Mr. Fischoeder’s mob family we’re talking about.
> 
> Speaking of, one issue I’ve had to deal with while writing this is determining how dangerous to make the Fischoeder Family. I wanted it to be threatening enough that there are actual stakes, but not so dangerous that the reader has to worry that Bob will find Louise’s broken body in the dumpster behind the restaurant. While I like reading dark Bob’s Burgers stories, I don’t particularly care to write them; sure, I’ll do angst, but I like to keep some of the cartoony absurdity there. It’s also worth noting that Louise is too low-level at this point to be involved in anything truly dangerous, but I tried to drop enough hints that it’s clear Louise is blithely wading out into deep water.
> 
> I plan to have the first chapter of “I’m Okay,” a Belcher holiday story, up within the next few weeks. It takes place the following mid-December, about four months after the action in this story. It features a lot of Louise, but Gene and Tina have substantial stories too, and Bob and Linda get into one of their ridiculous competitions. Hope so see you then! 
> 
> Yours truly,  
> DangerFloof


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